


Fur and Feathers

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Hundred Ways To Say 'I Love You', Angst, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Smut, a bit of everything, book canon, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 100
Words: 78,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unconnected one shots inspired by a list of ways to say I Love You. Some are smutty, some are fluffy, some are angsty, some canon era, others modern AU. A little bit of everything. I'll put appropriate warnings on each chapter in the notes section.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pull over. Let me drive for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Way #1. 'Pull over. Let me drive for a while.'  
> Sandor typical language. 
> 
> I've been estranged from this ship for quite a while, but I never stopped loving them. Still definitely my OTP. This prompt, I guess it is, I have no idea where it came from. I found the list on Pinterest but I think it originally came from Tumblr. As I don't have a Tumblr account, I'm not really sure. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! I've already gotten half of the 100 prompts done so I should be posting daily, unless I cant get to my computer for some reason.

Sandor reclined the seat back enough to ease the tension in his lower back. They'd been sitting in this godsforsaken truck for closing in on twenty hours. He hated the confined space, not being able to fully stretch out his nearly seven foot frame was miserable, but he'd agreed to get Sansa home in time for her brothers funeral.

Glancing across the cab of the pickup, he took in her pale features in the pre dawn light. She looked awful, if he were being honest. Which he almost always was. Her hair hadn't been washed in probably two days now, since hearing the news, the auburn turning darker near her scalp while she had the tangled mess of it piled into a bun atop her head. Her clothes were rumpled for being slept in and wearing for so long. The tip of her nose was still red from her last crying jag and her eyes were puffy and red rimmed.

She was still so fucking pretty she damn near stole his breath.

It was her shift at driving, and she'd only been behind the wheel for maybe three hours while Sandor had driven for close to ten straight, only stopping once to piss.

The song on the radio switched and a new song came on. Sandor had no idea what it was; Sansa had chosen the station, but whatever it was had her drawing in a ragged breath. Her little chin wobbled precariously and she sniffed a few times, but Sandor still saw the tear escape her eye and trail down her porcelain like skin. Without even thinking, he reached across the minimal space between them and caught the tear with his knuckle. Sansa's head swiveled towards him in surprise, her blue eyes wide and shimmering, before she brought her attention back to the road.

"Sorry." she sniffed again. "This was Robb's favorite song."

Sandor hated his brother. If given even half a chance, he was pretty sure he'd willingly bash his skull in, damn the consequences. He didn't understand the closeness of siblings, but Sansa was obviously close with hers. The rawness of her grieving was evidence of that. And it twisted something inside of his chest uncomfortably to see her this way. Fuck the fact that she wasn't his to worry about, only an assigned job.

"Pull over." he motioned to a truck stop coming up. "Let me drive for a while."

"But, it's my turn." she argued, but still flicked on the blinker to signal she was taking the exit. Sandor said nothing as she drove the truck into an empty spot and he started undoing his seat belt.

"Are you sure?" she asked, sniffling once again. "I feel so guilty that you've been driving so much."

"Stop your chirping." he said, not ungently. "Sleep. You look like hell."

For some reason, that had a tiny smile kicking up the corner of her mouth. She unlatched the seatbelt and waited until he got out before sliding across the bench seat so she didn't have to put her shoes back on. Once he was back out on the highway, he cast a quick glance over at her as she adjusted the seat further back and curled up on her side, both hands cushioning her head as she faced him. Her eyes were already closed, but Sandor didn't think she was sleeping. But at least she was resting. And not crying.

He had the most frustrating inkling that he'd drive from Dorne to the Wall without stopping for her, if not further, just so long as it made her happy. Or less miserable, in the least.


	2. It reminded me of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #2. It reminded me of you.
> 
> Just fluff.

Sansa sat on a fallen tree trunk as she watched a few of the children of Winterfell's servants playing in the fresh spring grass. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the clean air.

It had been a long winter. A hard winter. Spring had finally come, and the lands were slowly righting themselves, healing from war and poverty and death. Sansa had experianced enough of that herself. Of the Starks, there was only herself and Rickon left. Arya had come home just in time to join their bastard brother turned cousin at the Wall for the war against the Others. Neither of them had come back, at least not alive. But she had Rickon, of that she must remember and was grateful for. Ser Davos was helping the young boy in political matters and Lyanna Mormont had taken quite a liking to her only living brother. It was enough, and Sansa would be happy for that at least.

A hulking figure riding down the path on a black horse caught her eye and a smile tugged at her lips. Sandor Clegane had found her at Winterfell with a group of men that called themselves the Brotherhood without banners at the start of the war. He had been badly injured previously, walking with a limp, but he had still insisted on following all the others to the Wall. He had come back, though, unlike so many others. And he had stayed.

She wasn't sure what to call him. He still refused knighthood, even though both the Dragon Queen and Rickon had offered it to him after his services in the battle. He had no ties to the North, no lands or family, and yet he stayed when the rest of the so called Brotherhood left. Rickon made use of him, putting him to work helping rebuild the garrison and she had heard word that Davos had recommended to Rickon that he be given the Dreadfort as it was now without a Lord and they were sorely lacking in able bodied men. Sansa didn't think Sandor would want it. He had always scorned the title, but Sansa fervently hoped he would. If he carried that title, and was Lord of a house like Dreadfort, then...well, her marriage prospects would at least be more vast then they were at the moment.

Standing from her perch on the fallen tree as he came closer, she smiled to him in greeting.

"My Lady." he greeted her with a nod of his head.

"How was Winter Town?" she asked.

"Busy." he glanced behind her, at where she knew Brienne would be lingering a few steps away, but then his grey eyes shifted back to her and she felt her heart flutter a little.

"I take it this beast didn't do anyone any lasting harm?" she teased, stroking Strangers velvety nose. The horse stomped at the ground with a hoof and huffed, but didn't pull his head away.

"Unless he killed them outright and I never knew." Sansa shot him a narrowed eye glare at his dark jape, but he simply smirked. It faded quickly enough and he suddenly looked uncomfortable as he shifted in the saddle and one hand went under his cloak to retrieve a small tin.

"Here." he tossed it to her and Sansa quickly caught it before it would hit her chest. She rolled the little tin in her fingers, it was silver in color and had been hammered with a floral design, before popping it open. Inside there was a stone around the size of her thumb. It was polished smooth and a bright shade of cerulean blue. It immediately reminded her of Rickon's eyes. Of her eyes.

She looked back up at him with her mouth parted in surprise, her cheeks starting to warm despite the still chilly air.

"It's beautiful." she finally said with a smile.

Sandor grimaced a little and shrugged his big shoulders. "It reminded me of you."

"I...I thank you." she looked back at the stone and smiled again, feeling nearly overwhelmed with how happy she was to have received such a simple gift. Sandor grunted in a sort of reply, then pushed Stranger on towards the stables. Sansa watched him go with a small smile, her fingers skimming over the stone. She glanced back at Brienne who made a show of rolling her eyes and Sansa laughed lightly, closing the tin and putting it into the pocket of her cloak before starting back inside. She wanted to find her sharpest needle so she could strike a hole through the stone and thread it with the silver chain her mother had left her. No matter if Sandor Clegane became a Lord or not, at least she would have something of him resting close to her heart.


	3. No, no. It's my treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #3. No, no. It's my treat.
> 
> Sandor typical language.

There weren't many things Sandor detested more than walking in the rain. It was cold and uncomfortable and it slicked his hair down to the point it did little to hide his scars any longer. It being the middle of rush hour on a Saturday, there wasn't a cab to be found.

Trying to ignore the heaviness of his jeans as they soaked up the rain, Sandor tucked his hands in his pockets and bowed his head against the onslaught of rain as he trudged on, scowling and grumbling all the way. Focused as he was on his own discomfort, he almost ran smack into a woman standing near the curb with one arm out to hail a cab.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Excuse me." she quickly apologized, even though it wasn't her fault. Sandor opened his mouth to give her some snarky reply, but lost the ability to move his tongue as he took her in.

Christ, she was pretty. And dry, with her big nice umbrella. _The bitch_. And with all those miles of legs left exposed by a form fitting pencil skirt and her flowing red hair, a cab had come to a squealing halt to pick her up. _Sexist bastards_.

"Take it." she offered with a wave of her hand towards the back door. "You look like you need it more than I do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snapped, always ready to bite a friendly hand.

An elegant brow rose as she scanned him from head to toe.

"It means you're soaked through and look miserable. And you have no umbrella. Take this one. I'll catch another." She even went so far as to open the damn door for him.

"You really don't..." she cut him off with a wave of her hand and a light laugh.

"No, no." she smiled so sweetly at him. "It's my treat. Please."

Sandor debated for all of four seconds before grabbing the door frame above her hand.

"We'll share it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be around my computer over the weekend so I'm going to try and post another later this evening. If not, another will be up Sunday!!


	4. Come here. Let me fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #4. Come here. Let me fix it.
> 
> Again, Sandor typical language. Angst.

Sandor was good at fucking shit up. He was angry and bitter and mistrustful and frequently drunk. Somehow, though, Sansa seemed to like him. Enough so that she asked him to get dinner one evening, and enough that she kept saying yes when he continued to ask her to do things.

Regardless of her feelings for him, or his for her, Sandor still had demons. Dark demons that haunted him and stole what happiness he managed to find at every turn of his life. Particularly this turn, with her.

He snapped at her. He barked. He occasionally threatened to bite, but Sansa refused to leave, refused to give up on him.

Until he went too far, said one too many hurtful things. A drunken stupor. Nightmare fueled sleeplessness. Anger and rage so bright and all consuming he snuffed out what light there was in her pretty blue eyes and she cried until she couldn't anymore. With dignity and poise that only Sansa Stark could muster with mascara smeared across her face, she gathered up what belongings of hers she had at his place and told him goodbye with a soft kiss pressed to his scarred cheek.

He let her go, the burning instinct to reach out to her and beg her to stay and forgive him dulled by the copious amount of liquor in his system.

The skill he had at self harm came in useful in the months that followed. He drank and fought and pissed away the job he had by starting fights where there weren't any. He hated himself so it didn't matter that he was losing everything.

Until it did matter. In a brief moment of clarity between blackouts, he realized he didn't want this. All this hollow, senseless pain that he kept dragging out and bringing on himself. He wanted to be better, to be whole, and he wanted Sansa.

Bronn helped and Sandor was able to stay sober long enough that he beat out the sickness that weakened him as his body purged itself of the poison inside of it. When the time came, and he was able to, Sandor called the number Bronn had left for him and got the help he so desperately needed. Half a year passed while Sandor battled his demons and fought a fight that was harder than any other he'd ever encountered.

Finally, _finally_ , the ugliness that had followed him around for most of his life started to lift, but he still felt hollow.

Running a hand over his scarred side, imagining he could still feel Sansa's hand and lips touching him, he lifted his hand and knocked. A few seconds passed and her door flew open, her pretty face a mask of surprise.

"Sandor?" she questioned as if he might be someone else.

"Little bird." his rasped, momentarily forgetting what all he'd rehearsed before coming here.

"What.." she shook her head, tears brimming her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I hurt you." he informed her rather pointlessly. "I hurt you and myself and a hell of a lot of people. But hurting you is the worst mistake I ever made."

Sansa seemed to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she blinked rapidly for a moment.

"Bronn told me you were getting help." she said softly. "I was really happy to hear that. Are you...do you feel better?"

"I do." he nodded, running a hand over his scars again. "But there's something I left broken. Not you, of course, you aren't broken. You're strong and...but us. I broke us and..."

"Hush." Sansa held up a hand, this time letting tears slip from her eyes. "I've missed you so much, Sandor, but I knew you needed the space and the time to heal or we would only continue to be broken. But I don't want us to be broken anymore."

Sandor took a shuddering breath, his newly cleansed soul feeling raw and tender. He held out a hand towards her, ignoring that it shook slightly.

"Come here." he offered. "Let me fix it."


	5. I'll walk you home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #5. I'll walk you home. 
> 
> As per usual, Sandor typical language.

Sansa sat at the bar, sipping on her drink while listening to Rickon drone on about how slow the bar was that evening and how he just didn't understand why Jon wouldn't let them close up early. But Jon wasn't here, off on his monthly weekend training for the Guard, so Rickon was forced to keep the bar open when the only patrons were Sansa. And she was only here because she had nothing else to do and it had gotten too cold to continue her idle window shopping.

Behind her the door opened and a blast of icy wind came with it. Sansa shivered deeply, tugging her warm apple cider closer to her. Rickon looked up from his near obsessive drying of a beer glass and one brow kicked up at whomever it was, then grinned at Sansa. Curious, Sansa spun around in her seat to find Sandor Clegane shaking off a snow dusted coat, his steel grey eyes staring right back at her.

"Evening." Rickon greeted him, finally setting the bone dry glass down and bracing both hands on the bar top, shaking his curly auburn hair out of his face. "Starting to snow out there?"

"No shit." Sandor rasped, noisily pulling out the stool one over from her, dropping his coat into the one between them. "It is mid winter in Chicago."

"Too true." Rickon nodded, unfazed and used to Sandor's harsh manner. "What'll it be, Clegane?"

"Coffee with a shot of Jameson." he rubbed a big hand through his hair to knock loose the now melting snow.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Sansa asked, wincing at how catty her voice sounded. It wasn't Sandor's fault that Joffrey was a prick. Like he had told her time and again, it was a job and Sandor had bills to pay and a mouth to feed.

Sandor rumbled a short laugh, his eyes cutting to her and then back in front of him as he watched Rickon pour a mug of coffee. He didn't answer and Sansa shrugged to herself. Most likely he was here because Joffrey wanted her followed or some such crap, even though he was with Margaery now. That stupid flutter of hope a few weeks ago when he'd seemed almost happy when she said she was leaving Joffrey was probably because he was glad to be finished with her as well tried to come back, but Sansa pushed it away. Rickon added the shot of Jameson, then pushed the steaming mug across the counter and Sandor wrapped his long fingers around the chipped porcelain. Taking a long drink, he sat the mug back down and continued staring off at nothing.

"I quit." he finally said as Sansa was pulling her purse around to find the bills to pay her tab. She stopped with her hand shoved inside the zipper and her heart skipped a beat for some reason.

"What?" she asked, eyes snapping back up to stare at the unscarred side of his face. "Why?"

Sandor took another drink of his coffee, then shrugged. "Joffrey was a cunt. No getting around that. Even a dog gets tired of a master that kicks."

Still reeling in surprise, Sansa blindly pulled out her wallet and tossed a few bills onto the counter. "Well, that's good. You deserve better than working for that family."

Sandor grunted in acknowledgment when something dawned on Sansa.

"Why are you here, then?" she questioned. "If Joffrey didn't send..."

"I came on my own." he interrupted her quickly, turning on his stool to face her as she stood up. "Thought I'd tell you I was finished with them."

"Oh." Sansa blushed for no good reason.

"Yeah." Sandor cleared his throat and they both stared at each other in awkward silence for a moment.

"Uh, you need anything else, San?" Rickon interrupted.

"No, Ricky." she smiled at her brother. "I'm good."

"How 'bout you, Clegane? Jon text and said I could close up early so it's last call."

"Nothing else." Sandor downed some more of his coffee quickly and stood up, nearly looming over Sansa as he picked up his coat. Sansa said goodbye to Rickon and started towards the door as she pulled on her own coat and fingered the knit of her scarf as she hesitated so Sandor could catch up with her.

"Scarves normally do a better job when wrapped around your neck instead of being picked at with your fingers." Sandor told her with a smirk as he zipped up his own coat and pulled out gloves from his pocket.

"I know." Sansa grinned, draping the scarf around her neck before meeting his gaze. He looked like he was going to say more, but wound up closing his mouth with a frustrated sounding grunt and nodded his head at her as he ducked back outside into the freezing dusk. Sansa stood staring at the door for a long second before yanking it open and jogging after him.

"Sandor!" she called out. "Wait up."

Sandor pulled to a stop, turning slowly, the wind whipping his hair around his face.

"What do you want?" he asked, his shoulders hunched against the wind. "It's fucking freezing out here."

"I know." Sansa pulled her scarf tighter around her neck. "I just..." she hesitated, having no idea why she ran after him, only that she wanted to know what he was going to say a moment ago. And the real reason why he quit working for the Lannister's after years of service. She wanted to ask why he had helped her all those times that he did, and if she had just dreamed up his kiss that night so long ago.

Instead, all that came out was, "I'll walk you home."

Sandor furrowed his brow at her, looking confused and surprised. For a moment Sansa thought he would refuse her.

"Fine." a grin kicked up the good side of his mouth. "Let's fucking hurry, before you freeze all your feathers off."


	6. Have a good day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #6. Have a good day at work.
> 
> There be smut ahead :)

Sandor Clegane was becoming accustomed to the finer things in life. For the longest time, the softness of a feather mattress was almost suffocating after a lifetime on straw. Warm tubs of water that went unshared by a handful of other soldiers now didn't seem so uncomfortably small. And waking up next to a soft, warm body didn't have him groaning over the amount of coin he would have to fork over.

What he was still getting used to was the reality that it was alright that he be sleeping in a feather bed with a naked Lady Sansa twined around him. That there would be no guards waiting to arrest him or an execution block waiting for his neck. Sansa Stark was his Lady wife. Winterfell was his home. Bran Stark was now his liege Lord and Sandor commanded the garrison as well as the house guard.

Rolling over, he nuzzled his nose through all of her glorious hair to kiss the soft skin just below her ear. Sansa sighed and all but purred as she arched her back, one arm coming up to hold onto the back of his head.

"Good morning, husband." There was a smile in her whispered voice and Sandor couldn't help but smile himself as he raked his teeth over the lobe of her ear.

"It is." he agreed in an equally low voice, wrapping one arm around her hips and pulling her naked arse flush against his hard cock. "I bet we could make it better." he rumbled, rocking himself into her while he laved a line along her jaw.

"Mm." she hummed in agreement, moving her hand from holding his hair to reach back and grasp his hip. "You better live up to that promise, my Lord."

Sandor bit her shoulder in retaliation for the moniker. One she insisted on calling him in public now, but he still didn't enjoy.

"Mayhaps I'll take my own pleasure and leave you wanting." he taunted, thrusting his cock between the cleft of her arse. "As it is my right as your _Lord_ husband."

"True." she agreed in a breathless voice, pushing back against him. "But I'll put my faith in your generosity."

Another thing Sandor had taken some getting used to. Sansa's trust in him. Her blind faith that he was indeed a good man underneath the cloak of the Hound.

In this at least it was well placed. Sandor didn't like gaining his pleasure without bringing her to hers. Reaching around her hip, he splayed his hand open just above her pubis, rubbing his callouses against her soft skin before dipping his fingers down to tease at her maidens hair.

"Please, Sandor." she moaned softly. "I want you to touch me."

"I am touching you." he reminded her, tugging at the hair there to remind her of such.

"More, please." she begged so prettily, back arching and arse rubbing. Sandor growled and bit her shoulder again as his fingers parted her folds and he played in the wetness she was making for him. Sansa was just starting to moan and pant, a dainty hand coming up to cover her mouth and silence the noises she was making when Sandor shifted back so he could press inside of her in one smooth stroke. He kept playing at her little button, his other hand pushing underneath her head to replace her small hand with his own to better muffle the noises she made as she broke apart and came around him.

Once she relaxed again, he pushed her further over onto her belly and took her like the dog he had so often been called, biting down onto the nape of her neck to silence his own cry of release. Still, regardless of their attempts to be somewhat silent as they loved each other, a soft cry pierced the air of their room, rising above their panting breaths.

One thing Sandor still hadn't gotten used to in the last five months.

Sansa laughed softly underneath him as he groaned and rolled off of her. She stood up gracefully despite his seed running down her thighs and pulled on a dressing robe before crossing to the small cradle near the fire and lifting the auburn haired little baby.

"Hush now." she whispered to it, settling herself down in the padded arm chair nearby and pulling her robe open so the boy could latch on. Sandor lay on his back, watching his wife and son in their morning ritual before rising himself and cleaning up before dressing and readying for the day.

"Good day, My Lady." he stopped to kiss her forehead, leaning further down to kiss the downy soft curls of his sons head. Steel eyes the same as his looked at him for a moment before going back to his morning meal.

Sansa smiled softly at both before Sandor turned and moved to leave their bedchambers.

"Have a good day at work." Sansa called after him and gave him a coy smile when he glanced back at her. " _My Lord_."


	7. I dreamt about you last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #6. I dreamt about you last night.
> 
> This one is a mix of book and show. For Sandor's storyline, we're going with the grave digger theory, not the whole Brother Ray thing from the show. For Sansa, she did return to Winterfell and marry Ramsay and has since returned with Jon after the Battle of the Bastards. 
> 
> Strong language, because Sandor.

It was snowing, which the Hound would have taken for his shit luck. Sandor Clegane saw it for what it was. Winter in the North. Still, regardless of the silent years of digging graves and vomiting feelings up on the bloody elder brothers feet, Sandor cursed the cold and biting wind as he pushed his mount on.

The years on the Isle hadn't changed the beast beneath him much. Stranger was just as testy and ill tempered as he'd always been and he seemed happy to finally be gone from the hooded monks that didn't speak.

Pulling his cloak tighter about himself and ignoring the throbbing of his thigh, they continued on through the winter winds and towards the castle in the distance. A sick feeling swirled in his gut, a familiar ache of anger heating his blood as he knew what was waiting for him there. It had been years since he last saw the girl. Their last meeting wasn't exactly friendly so he had no idea how he would be received. An inkling of an idea, but if he was right he'd likely end up in stocks or with his head on an execution block. He had been a loyal guard to the Lannister's his entire life. He had killed plenty of the North's men in his day. It was a fair assumption to say he wouldn't be received well.

Unless...unless the elder brother had been right. Mayhaps Sansa Stark would carry a flicker of gratitude for the things he had done for her, however little they had been, and would welcome him in. Either way, it mattered not. He didn't seek her forgiveness, of which he knew he did not deserve. He sought absolution. He would tell her of his regrets, give her his tale of woe and sorry. It was the last step to completely shed the Hound from his back. If she chose to kill him afterwards, then so be it. Both Sandor and the Hound had been ready to die for years.

Guards stopped him. A bastard Snow now declared King in the North met him at the gates. The young man looked much like he remembered Ned Stark looking, with the added harshness come by from years spent on the Wall. Mayhaps Sandor would be sent there instead of being killed. Another fate he was willing to accept.

Sandor introduced himself as he wincingly dismounted Stranger. Almost immediately irons were slammed onto his wrists. Six guards surrounded him, as if they feared he would fight. The Hound would have. He would have snarled and snapped and ripped them to pieces for deigning to touch him. Sandor held out his hands complacently for them to cuff him and went willingly as they led him to the great hall for an impromptu hearing. Jon had left him at the gates, but he rejoined them shortly, mounting the small dais to sit at a table. Jon didn't speak as he stared down at Sandor on his knees on the cold stone. His leg protested but Sandor ignored it as he met the cold grey gaze of the man before him.

It seemed like forever and only moments before a door rattled open behind the dais and in strode a woman Sandor had a hard time reconciling with the trembling young girl he had left the night the Blackwater burned.

She was tall, strikingly so, with her familiar long auburn hair plaited in the Northern style once again. Her body was no longer that of a child, but one of a woman with curves and hallows to prove it. Her face was vaguely familiar, though the innocence that had once dominated her features was now gone, replaced by a calculated façade trained perfectly to hide her emotions. Gone was the chirping little bird that was always crying and frightened. In her place was a coolly collected wolf.

This was what he had been trying to bring out in her all those years ago. This was the type of woman, with steel in her spine and ice in her eyes, that could survive the rats nest that was Kings Landing.

No matter how silent his brothers had been on the Isle, word still spread throughout the region and he had heard about what had become of her. An unbedded Lannister bride that went missing during the Purple Wedding only to end up the wife of legitimized bastard. There were stories that floated about at the horrors that had faced her in her husbands house, this house, and he had heard of how the lord bastard died as well.

And who unleashed the dogs on him.

There was only a momentary flash of recognition that passed through her features before she seated herself next to her bastard brother.

"Hound." she said by way of greeting. "I heard tell that you were dead." Sandor's eyes flicked up to the beast of a woman behind her and knew how she had come to know that.

"I was." he shifted his weight further to his good leg. "For a bit. But I'm alive now."

"And my sister?" she questioned. "What of her?"

"Wouldn't know." Sandor shrugged and shifted again, the ache getting worse the longer he stayed on his knees. "She's the one that left me to die even though I begged her to finish the damn job that big bitch hadn't quite managed." he looked up at the blonde warrior woman and inclined his head slightly. "Not for lack of trying, of course."

Sansa seemed unfazed by his language, though his voice lacked malice. "Where were you headed before then?"

"Nowhere." he winced a little as his leg started to cramp further and seize up. He grunted as he shifted once again, trying to straighten out his leg while still staying on his knees as was expected. "Everyone that would have wanted her was dead. We didn't have plans. My guess is she headed to Braavos. Spoke of it often."

Jon shifted closer to Sansa, whispering something in Sansa's ear but Sansa's eyes never left his own. Sandor tried relaxing back onto his heels and rubbed his shackled hands up and down the spasming muscles.

"You're injured." Sansa pointed out once Jon sat upright in his seat.

"Old injury." he grunted, eyes flicking to the Tarth woman again. He thought he saw a grin cross her face but it was gone quickly. "It's normally fine. Been on a horse for days. Sitting on my knees isn't helping matters, either."

Sansa cocked her head to the side, considering, then those blues of her flicked up to the guards beside him before she looked at her brother.

"You've come from the Quite Isle." Jon stated. "Why?"

"Things that need to be said. Old burdens to unload. Shit to purge."

"And what have you to say?" Jon leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach in a casual pose that was anything but casual.

"Nothing to you." Sandor said honestly. "Words for your sister." he glanced at Sansa in time to see her swallow hard, but no other emotion crossed her face.

"Whatever you have to say to Lady Stark can and will be said in my presence."

Sandor continued looking at Sansa as he shrugged once more at Snow's ultimatum.

"I'm sorry." he baldy said with no censor. He hadn't time for it anymore. For the first time since she had come into this room, Sansa showed emotion and that was surprise.

"You were a child. Innocent. I should have done more to stop the things that happened to you, even if it had meant my head. I did what I could. Enough to keep you relatively safe while preserving my own life. It still wasn't enough, but that's not what I'm sorry for. What I am sorry for is that night of the Blackwater. I meant to hurt you that night, and I'm sorry for that. I frightened you and threatened you when you were nothing but a scared child. It was wrong of me. I did a lot wrong to you in those times, but that was the worst. And I'm sorry."

A long moment passed where Sansa simply stared at him with wide, shocked eyes. She blinked a few times, opened her mouth and then closed it before trying again.

"Let him stand." she instructed the guards and when Jon nodded his assent, Sandor staggered to his feet with the help of the two guards, both of which let him go quickly once he had his footing. Being able to stretch out his leg relieved most of the pain and he shook his foot out to speed up the flow of blood.

"Take him to the cells." Jon instructed with a wave of his hand, but Sansa surged forward in her chair before regaining herself.

"No." she turned to face her brother. "He is not a prisoner. He's unarmed and nearly lame. There is no cause to put him in the cells. Put him in one of the empty rooms and place guards at his door if you must, but there is no reason to put him down there." Jon looked momentarily shocked at his sisters demands. There was no one else to witness what might have been considered a slight against his authority other than Brienne and the two guards at his sides, which is likely why Jon waved his consent before leaving.

It wasn't until later that night that he saw anyone else. He sat on the foot of the straw bed as he looked off into the empty fireplace. Silence no longer bothered him, but the waiting was still hell. A firm knock at his door roused him from his inner musings and he stood and went to the door before he remembered it was locked from the outside. He only had time to consider saying something before the bolt sounded and the door swung open and Sansa stepped inside.

"Why?" she asked as soon as the door was shut behind her. Sandor studied her for a moment.

The Hound would have mocked her for her stupidity of closing herself in a room with a man like him. He would have taunted her and probably threatened her. Sandor said nothing, taking his time to consider how to respond.

"I dreamt about you last night." he finally answered. "And every night before that for the last few years. It was those dreams that helped me push through the haze of near death and work to be better. The elder brother was right, I needed to say the words to be fully cleansed. Now I'm ready to meet whatever fate you have in mind."

Before his eyes, this cool detached woman dropped her façade until she was more like the girl he had once known so very long ago. But still different. He thought her all the more beautiful for it.


	8. Take my seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #8. Take my seat.

Public transportation was the shits. Too many people all shoved off into a metal tube. It was always hot and smelly and for a man of Sandor Clegane's stature, the sheer amount of people meant physical contact. He hated physical contact. His past had always proven it to be painful for one person or the other.

But it was a necessary evil. He couldn't afford a car and had to get to work somehow. Normally he could avoid it on weekends, but today he had no choice. The sole of his work boots had finally given in after ten years of service and he needed a new pair. So, scowling and already in a shit mood, Sandor boarded the tube and breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw a seat big enough for him open. Elbowing some guy out of his way, Sandor sat down and settled in, trying not to get too close to the elderly lady next to him.

At the next stop the doors directly across from him opened but no one got out. Four people, however, did shove on.

She was hard to miss, even if he hadn't been staring directly at the doors. Wearing a full skirted wedding dress and her red hair up in an elaborate do, most everyone on the tube looked at her. He watched her as her eyes scanned the train, finding it's seats all full, and with a sniffling sigh, moved to the pole attached to the side of his seat to stand.

She was pretty, in a dainty way. Even with mascara streaking down her cheeks and her eyes red rimmed and watery from crying, she damn near took his breath. He wondered briefly what sort of crisis had fallen her to cause such a pretty thing to be riding the tube on a Saturday afternoon in a wedding dress while crying. Then he remembered he didn't care, and that it was none of his business.

Turning his attention back to his shoes, following the unspoken code on the tube of not talking to anyone, he tried to ignore the fact he could hear the girls breath catch on sob. A moment later the tube lurched forward as it began it's trip once again, causing the girl to sway forward, her white lace skirts brushing against his leg, and then she stumbled to the side with a gasp.

"No." she said under her breath as she leaned forward and lifted her skirts to reveal a snapped heel. "Can this day possibly get any worse?" she asked no one in particular as she slid the broken shoe from her foot.

Sandor tried to ignore her. It shouldn't have been that hard. She wasn't all out crying or sobbing. She actually hadn't made another noise after her shoe broke. But he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried silently. He saw the white knuckled grip on the pole as she tried not to let her bare foot touch the tube floor. The broken high heel held to her chest made it all the more pitiful. Something about her silent distress made him uncomfortable.

He was able to last ten minutes before he couldn't take it anymore.

Pushing himself to standing with a sigh, keeping his body in front of the seat so some asshole didn't slip in and take it, he turned to the girl. She tilted her head back to look at him, mouth open slightly as she took him in, eyes only widening fractionally at his scars.

"Take my seat." he motioned to the empty bench with his hand. Her eyes followed the motion, then snapped back to his.

"No, I couldn't possibly..."

"Take the bloody seat." he cut across her and she ducked her head at his harshness. When she looked back up at him, her smile nearly knocked him on his ass it was so open and thankful and full of gratitude. Her heartfelt 'thank you' dissolved what little irritation he had at giving up his seat.

Sandor shifted to where she had been standing, holding onto the bar. Not even a second later someone bumped into him from behind. Sandor didn't even mind so much. Not when the girl sitting in front of him wasn't crying any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer got a virus and had to be rebooted and all this crap. Unfortunately all my work was lost, so all the 50+ Ways I had already finished are gone. :( I'm still going to go back and redo them, but the daily updates might not be happening. Hopefully, but probably not.


	9. I saved a piece for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #8. I saved a piece for you.
> 
> Just fluff.

A creature of habit, that's what Margaery had called her, and probably it was true. Sansa liked it when things went a certain way. No surprises, nothing to throw her off. It made her days go smoothly and kept the amount of stress down. She liked her schedule.

That day, her schedule had flown out the window. It started early that morning with a busted water main in the neighborhood that meant she couldn't have her morning shower and had to brush her teeth with a bottle of water. Then, when she left her house with her hair in a French braid to hide the unwashed texture, she tripped off of the curb and ripped a hole in her hose. Running back into her house to change them made her miss the bus, which meant she had to walk to work. She showed up late, with blisters on her toes from her new shoes.

Work hadn't gone any better. She was swimming in back orders and the toner cartilage on the copier broke and stained her favorite blouse. She ended up having to stay hours after work to finish up all the back orders and print what she needed to once the copier was fixed.

All of that meant she was late to the diner she ate at every Friday. Her cousin, Jon, owned it and she always had a chef salad and chatted with him in between orders while stealing peeks at the short order cook that she'd developed a major crush on despite his harsh attitude and rough features. Besides, he made the best lemon pie she'd ever had. Another thing she ate every Friday evening.

When she got to the café, no one was there. The tables and bar were all empty and Jon wasn't sitting at the register like he normally was, gawking off at the pretty redheaded waitress. Even the redheaded waitress was missing.

"Hello?" she called out and Sandor's head popped out of the window back to the kitchen.

"Hey." he nodded at her, then disappeared before coming out from behind the kitchen. "Jon's gone. Thought you weren't coming."

"Yeah." she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Rough day. Why are you still here?"

"Closing." he pulled the bandana off his forehead and tossed it onto the counter. "Ygritte and I switch off. Tonight's my night."

"Oh." she said lamely. "I take it the kitchen's closed."

"It is." he nodded. Sansa looked at the empty pie display and let out a sigh, probably pouting a little. Sandor chuckled as he followed her line of sight.

"Sit down." he motioned to one of the stools. "Give me a second."

Sansa collapsed onto the stool and pillowed her tired head on her arms as she waited. A second later Sandor came back out from the kitchens with a foil wrapped paper plate. He sat it in front of her with little fanfare. Sansa sat up and gave him a curious smile as she opened the foil. When she saw what was inside she nearly cried.

A generous slice of lemon pie, complete with a heaping dollop of whipped cream and a sliver of lemon. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered.

"You always sell out of the lemon pie first." she said, looking up at Sandor.

He shifted his weight and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. "Yeah, well." he shrugged. "I saved a piece for you."

Sansa smiled, biting her bottom lip as she picked up the plastic fork also on the plate.

"You are seriously the best." she told him before shoving a bite in her mouth.

Sandor chuckled, loosening the ties on his stained white apron before pulling it off and heading back to the kitchens once more.

"I'll get the recipe out of you one day, Clegane!" she called after him.

"Doubtful, little bird." he called back without turning. "But I'll enjoy your efforts anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've caught up to #18, so I'm trucking along pretty well. Maybe it won't be as bad as I had thought :)


	10. I'm sorry for your loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #10. I'm sorry for your loss.
> 
> Vague talks of murder. Very vague. You should totally be fine. 
> 
> More show canon than book as in Sansa married Ramsay.

Widow. It was a title Sansa never thought would one day apply to her, especially at such a young age. However, she couldn't say she was sorry for it.

She never loved Ramsay. Ramsay had never loved her. He loved hurting her, torturing her, but never loved her. Even now, almost a week after his death, Sansa bore his bruises from that last night.

She put up the pretense of the grieving widow. She wore a black dress and oversized sunglasses to hide her black eyes. Makeup hid the bruise on her cheek, but nothing could be done about the split in her bottom lip. Not that any of it mattered. Everyone here knew what sort of man her husband had been and what she had suffered at his hands.

The rumbling of a motorcycle momentarily interrupted the septons eulogy. Sansa glanced across the graveyard to the small road and the motorcycle parked there, the familiar hulking figure standing next to the now silent bike.

She hadn't seen him in almost a week, since that last night, and ached to run to him. Instead, she focused back on the septon.

He'd come to her after all these years to apologize for leaving her when she needed him. He took in the bruises and her still bleeding lip and offered to take her away again. This time Sansa said yes.

They made it look like an accident. Her husband did so love his knives. Bully him for trying to walk down a flight of stairs holding one after too many drinks.

The service over, Sansa endured the stream of condolences from people who really didn't care until she was finally alone, save for the gravediggers that were burying her husband. Walking across the damp grass, her heels sinking into the earth, she joined Sandor at his bike.

"Sorry for your loss." he said with a small quirk of his lips.

Sansa full out smiled at him. "Thank you."

Sandor nodded, picking up the helmet that sat on the back of the bike and handing to her. She strapped it on as he lifted one well muscled leg to the other side of the bike and pulled on his own helmet. Hiking up the skirt of her black dress, she got on behind him, bracketing his hips with her thighs.

With one last look at the hole where her husband would rot, she wrapped her arms around Sandor and together they drove off to their future, leaving the past behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS, this is my favorite one so far :)


	11. You can have half.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #11. You can have half.

He hadn't planned any of it. It wasn't thought out. It was a drunken whim to ask her to go. He had never considered she would actually accept. Still, he was a man of his word. He would take the girl to her family. What was left of it.

He knew she was freezing even without her saying anything. Sandor had the presence of mind to grab some food before they left, and his bag of coin, but he hadn't taken into consideration how cold the nights would be the further North they got. And it was still too dangerous for an inn.

The little bird was sitting far too close to the fire for his peace of mind, but he kept his mouth shut and finished rolling out their bedrolls. He kept them close together, wanting little distance between them should something happen during the night. Besides, he liked having her close. For whatever that was fucking worth.

After they ate their meal of hard cheeses and some fallen apples that they'd picked up earlier that day, they retired to the bedrolls without word. Sandor sat on his, loosening his boot laces without removing them. Beside him, Sansa was curled into a tight ball facing away from him, her thin cloak meant for fashion instead of function, clutched tightly around her small frame. He could see her shivering. With a roll of his eyes, he grabbed his white cloak from his bedroll and shook it out, tossing it over her without warning. She jumped, startled, her head whipping around to stare at him. Sandor said nothing, just lay down on his back and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep what little warmth he had inside. He ignored her whispered 'thank you'.

He feigned sleep as he listened to her shifting around and then suddenly she was there, right next to him, sitting up so she loomed over him. His eyes shot open and a completely out of place trickle of fear leaked down his spine. He scoffed at himself. Like this little girl could hurt him. She smoothed something over the top of him, warmth seeping into his skin. He glanced down to see she had covered him with his cloak while keeping herself covered as well. It forced her to lay closer to him, her little body touching his side.

Sandor opened his mouth to tell her to fuck off before he did something unforgiveable, but promptly shut it when she patted his chest.

"You can have half." she said softly, settling down next to him, her back once again to him. "If you are to protect me and get me home, it would be a pity for you to perish from a silly cold."

Sandor chuckled silently, letting his eyes close once again though he knew he wouldn't sleep. He was at least thankful for the warmth the cloak and her body provided. And he was oddly content, the beast inside silenced for the moment.


	12. Take my coat, it's cold outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #12. Take my coat, it's cold outside.
> 
> Sad and sappy.

Snow fell heavily against the windshield of the pickup, obscuring her view of the graveyard. She didn't need to be able to see to know what was out there. Five headstones all bearing the Stark last name.

All but two of her family.

She shivered despite the warmth of the cab of the truck, idly toying with the stems of the roses in her hand.

"You want me to go with you?" a steely voice rasped from beside her. She looked over at Sandor. He sat in the drivers seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel. He looked almost afraid she would say yes, or perhaps worried she would say no.

"No, thank you." she shook her head and looked out the window. "I need to do this by myself. For now."

She had a brief worry that she might have hurt his feelings, but Sandor understood her needs. Like he always did.

"Take your time." he rasped, making a show of settling back in his seat, arms crossing over his broad chest as he leaned his head back against the headrest. "No hurry. Not like I got any other place to be."

She understood his words for the truth they were, not as a subtle hint for her to hurry up. Sandor Clegane was not a subtle person.

Knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, she sat the flowers on the seat beside her and pulled her gloves from her pocket. Pulling them on methodically, she then picked up her scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Reaching for the flowers, she started when Sandor's big hand wrapped gently around her wrist, stalling her movements.

"Here." he dropped her wrist, setting forward and pulling off his coat. It was a sturdy brown Carhart.

"Take my coat." he thrust it towards her. "It's cold outside."

Suddenly feeling like she might cry, she quietly took the coat and slipped it on over her own. It was warmed through with his body heat and the familiar smell of his body wash, mixed with the leather of his truck interior. Oddly enough, it gave her the strength and resolve to pick up her flowers and head out into the cold.


	13. Sorry I'm late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #13. Sorry I'm late.
> 
> Just a bit of modern domestic fluff.

The lights were out in the house as she slipped through the front door. It had been a hellish shift at the hospital. An accident involving a tractor trailer and three other cars brought chaos into the emergency room. Sansa had just been going off shift before she found herself elbow deep in blood and death.

She paused at the door, toeing off her sneakers as she listened. There was only a faint rumble of the TV turned down. She breathed out a sigh of relief. As much as she absolutely loved her son Elias, despite his chronically unfaithful and absent father, she didn't feel quite up to putting on a brave face for him tonight. Sometimes being a single mom was difficult.

Tiptoeing into the living room, she pulled up short at the sight that greeted her, heart warming immediately. This, _this_ is what made it less difficult. _He_ made it less difficult.

Sandor was far too large for her sofa, but he was sprawled out across it, one long leg hooked over the opposite arm, another braced on the floor. A muscled arm was draped over the back of the sofa while the other pillowed his head. Elias was equally sprawled out over Sandor's chest, the three year olds pudgy cheek smooshed and mouth open slightly as they both slept soundly.

Sandor was her neighbor and had been for years. He was the one that was there when her water broke and he had driven her to the hospital. He stayed with her until her mom showed up, and then waited in the lobby after that. He had been there for every single birthday and major event since then. He was the male influence Elias needed in his life, even more constant than her brothers or father. And he was Sansa's best friend. Her grumpy, hard headed, foul mouthed, wonderful best friend.

Too bad she wanted far more from him. For both herself and Elias.

Pushing those thoughts away for now, Sansa gently pulled the remote out of the hand behind Sandor's head. He instantly came awake, eyes shooting open and body tensing before his grey eyes focused on her. Sansa placed a palm on his shoulder to help steady him.

"Sh." she whispered. "It's just me."

Sandor shifted around, glancing down at Elias still snoozing on his chest before clearing his throat. "Hey."

"Sorry I'm late." she whispered, clicking the TV to mute.

Sandor's eyes scanned her face for a moment, mouth pulling into a frown. "You alright?"

Sansa smiled tiredly at him. "Rough night."

Nodding, Sandor wrapped his arms around Elias and stood up from the sofa in a fluid movement someone his size shouldn't be capable of. She followed him down the hall in silence and watched from the doorway as he knelt next to Elias' little twin bed covered in dinosaurs before tucking him in. Sansa bit her lip as she smiled at the sight. It warmed her in a way she couldn't explain.

When Sandor turned to face her, catching her staring, an odd expression smoothed out the angry lines of his face, his normally harsh eyes soft. Perhaps it was because he'd just woken up and hadn't pulled his defenses back up, or maybe she was just seeing what she wanted. Either way, Sansa couldn't look away from his intense gaze as he crossed the bedroom to her. Her pulse was hammering in her chest as he brought one hand up and grabbed her shoulder, pushing her out into the hall as he pulled the door shut with a silent click.

Sansa licked her lips, unable to come up with anything to say as she stared up at him. The hand on her shoulder slid upwards to touch the side of her throat, long fingers curling around to touch the nape of her neck.

"Rough night." he repeated what she'd said earlier, walking her backwards until her shoulders touched the opposite side of the hall and he crowded into her space.

"Yeah." she breathed lamely.

"I can make it better." he offered in a rasp. "If you want me to." he leaned even closer to her, tilting his head down to run his nose along the side of her cheek.

"Because I want to." he rasped in her ear. "I want to so damn bad. I have for so fucking long."

"Sandor." she closed her eyes, leaning into his hand and his touch. "I'm disgusting right now. I need a shower and I might pass out any second from pure exhaustion."

Sandor pulled back with a shake of his head. "You could never be disgusting, little bird."

When she opened her mouth to argue, he silenced her with fingers ghosting over her lips.

"I'm not asking you to fuck me." he grasped her pony tail to tilt her head further back so he could look down at her better. "Not tonight. You're tired, I get that. I'm just asking for you to let me make it a better night."

"What if I want more than just one better night?" she whispered, throat working as she swallowed back the mixture of fear and hope.

A fleeting grin teased the corner of his mouth before it lowered to hers. He kissed her slow and gently, a complete contrast to what he looked capable of. Although she should have known. He was always so gentle with Elias. She went on tiptoes to wrap her arms around his shoulders as he hugged her tightly to him.

Pulling back, he rested their foreheads together for a moment.

"Took you long enough." she laughed lightly.

Sandor's deep chuckle warmed her chest. "Sorry I'm late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the ones I'm considering turning into a longer fic, so be sure to tell me what you think!!


	14. Can I have this dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #14. Can I have this dance? 
> 
> Mentions Gregor, so of course there's a bit of terribleness. Followed by lovely fluff :)

Sandor downed some more of his beer, having every intention of getting smashed. At least that was one good thing about this farce of a fucking wedding. Free booze. Sandor actually didn't understand the whole wedding thing anyway. Why such a big production? To show off how much money you had? To rub in the faces of your guests how _'in love'_ you and your partner were?

Sandor scoffed to himself. This was Gregor's third wedding, and by far the most gut churningly awful. There was no love between his brother and the little girl he was marrying. She was no different from the other two girls he'd married. Gregor had a liking for little girls, most too young. At least this one was legal, if only barely.

Sandor did feel a bit sorry for the girl. She had no idea, yet, of the monster she had just married. Sandor would have warned her if he'd known about her before two weeks ago when he got the wedding invitation.

He still didn't know why he came, why he had come to all the weddings. Maybe it was to see Gregor's reaction to seeing him again. Maybe it was just to keep that infected wound that was there broken relationship festering. For whatever reason he'd come, but he hadn't wanted to do so alone. Sansa Stark was the only woman he spoke to on a regular basis and he'd asked her. To his complete and utter surprise, she'd said yes.

Now he was regretting that decision. Talk about throwing the poor girl into the fire with this fucking spectacle. Not to mention he'd had to restrain from homicide when Gregor had looked her up and down. Luckily for Sansa, and possibly for Gregor as well, she was a few years too old for Gregor's preference.

Sansa sat next to him at the reception table, toying with her still full wine glass as they watched the dance floor. Sandor scowled as he watched Gregor basically dry hump his new wife on the floor, one hand wrapped almost restricting around her throat while the girl tried to tone her husband down.

"He's an animal." Sansa said softly, her voice full of disgust. Sandor quickly looked around to make sure no one had overheard her.

"He's a Clegane." Sandor shrugged, finishing off his beer. He was surprised by Sansa again when she whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes at him. He'd never seen her look so angry, her pretty blues flashing.

"You are nothing like him." she said firmly, leaning in close to poke in him the chest with one little finger. "Do you hear me, Sandor Clegane? You are a far better man than he is."

Sandor almost smiled. Instead, he stood up and offered her his arm. They'd stayed long enough. He didn't feel the need to subject either of them to this hell any longer.

They were walking silently through the parking lot before she spoke again.

"You know, I think that's the first wedding I've ever been to that I didn't dance at." She said it offhandedly, like she'd only just realized but didn't really care. Sandor said nothing as he walked her to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door, but he didn't stand aside so she could sit down. Instead, he leaned across the seat to start the battery and turned the radio up before standing once again.

Feeling a little ridiculous, he held out a hand to her. "Can I have this dance?"

Her smile was so damn bright it nearly blinded him. She accepted his hand eagerly and the two of them danced for gods knows how long. Until the guests started trickling out a few hours later.

He never did tell her that he'd never danced before then. And he never did dance again. Not until years later, at his own wedding, when he finally got to hold Sansa once more as they danced to a song she chose. And Gregor wasn't invited.


	15. I made your favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #15. I made your favorite. 
> 
> Sandor typical language and vague smuttiness.

"Surprise!" Sansa greeted him as he walked in the front door. She was standing beside the dinning room table, which was covered in a crisp white table cloth, candles burning in the center, and two place sittings set with wine glasses already filled.

"I made your favorite." she beamed, motioning towards what he took to be his plate. It was heaped with fried chicken, roasted vegetables, and a buttered roll. It was his favorite meal. But he didn't understand.

Sandor frowned at the table, asking her what all the fucking fuss was about. It wasn't his birthday or some pointless fucking holiday. He hadn't missed anything, had he? The sheer happiness that had been beaming out of her just a moment ago dimmed, but she simply informed him it was their first night living together in their new apartment. Sandor rumbled an 'oh', but felt like kicking himself. He hadn't meant to burst her bubble of happiness, he just honestly hadn't understood what was going on. He wasn't used to people making a big deal over things that involved him.

Dinner was tense and mostly silent, other than the occasional subdued pleasantry from Sansa. Sandor held his tongue, feeling guilty and uncomfortable. He wasn't good with words, especially ones of remorse. But he wanted to make it up to Sansa.

He did so by coaxing her onto the sofa with him, where she snuggled into his side as they watched Dancing with the Stars, which was just as horrible as he'd always suspected it would be. But it made Sansa happy so he held his tongue and didn't bitch.

He made it up to her some more once they went to bed, spending close to an hour with his tongue between her thighs until she was a quivering mess of oversensitive nerves and she was begging him to stop. He gave her a moment of respite, then fucked her how he knew she liked it best, long, hard, and steady until they were both a pile of sweaty, tangled limbs.

He kissed her gently afterwards, telling her sorry with every slow swipe of his tongue into her mouth. She forgave him the same way, her naked body wrapped up around his as they drifted off into a sated sleep, the dinner he ruined forgotten. Sandor promised himself he'd try and do better next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because, lets be honest, Sandor would be an unconscious ass a lot as a boyfriend. But he'd damn sure make it up to her afterwards :D


	16. It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #16. It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway.
> 
> Some Sandy Man angst. Followed by lovely SanSan fluff.

'Friend zone' was a term Sandor had heard multiple times before. He'd always thought it was bullshit. A term coined by bitter men that just couldn't wrap their egotistical little minds around the fact a woman who talked to them might not want to fuck them.

Now, Sandor knew full well he was a bitter man, but just not usually about something like that. He enjoyed his relationship with Sansa, however platonic it was when he wanted it to be more. He also knew that it was at least partially his fault. He'd never went as far as declaring himself or some such shit like that. But to be fair, Sansa had a revolving door of boyfriends. Horridly wrong boyfriends. There had never really been an opening.

There had been Joffrey Fucking Baratheon, that golden little cunt. The two timing bastard, Harry Hardyng. Creepy old Baelish that had more of a thing for her mom. One crippled Tyrell, then another that was so clearly in the closet it was almost painful to witness. She never showed any sort of interest in Sandor other than being her friend. So he was her friend.

Because of this, he wasn't at all surprised when a knock came to his door at close to two in the morning and he found Sansa standing on his front door with her bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth and a pensive look in her face.

"Sorry that it's so late."

"It's okay." he shoved the door open to let her in. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

It wasn't a lie. He'd been up debating how much longer he could carry on this bullshit. He didn't know how much more he could stand to watch her with other guys without killing someone.

He flopped onto his bed in his studio, taking his TV off mute and waited for her to join him like she always did. She would cry and vent and tire herself out until she finally fell asleep. Sandor rarely had to say anything.

When she didn't join him for a long moment, he looked up to find her standing at the edge of the bed with her fingers twined together and a nervous look in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, rolling up onto his elbow to look at her better. "Which one of your prince charming's broke your poor little heart this time?"

He hated himself for sneering at her, but he was feeling more than a little bitter at the moment.

She blinked, hard, a tear squeezing out as she looked down at her hands.

"Me." she drew in a breath and looked up at him. "It's always been me breaking my own heart. Choosing all these horrid men to date, trying to distract myself from the fact that the perfect man was right in front of me." she swallowed and shrugged. "I just didn't want to lose my best friend."

Sandor had gone stock still as she spoke, his heart starting to pick up it's pace. She hadn't blatantly said she was speaking about him, so he tried to tamp down the surge of hope he felt.

"Why would this perfect man make you lose your best friend?" he questioned.

"They're the same person." she whispered, peeking at him through her lashes.

Sandor sat up and moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, moving his legs open enough so Sansa could stay where she was. His bed was low enough that it put them eye level with each other.

"Margaery is your perfect man?" he asked with a teasing tone, the good corner of his mouth curving upwards when she let out a huge breath and giggled.

"Margie isn't my best friend." she shuffled forward a little and those soft little fingers touched his burnt cheek. "You are."


	17. Watch your step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #17. Watch your step.

Sansa silently endured yet another session at court, watching as Joffrey instructed the removal of one mans hand, and the tongue of another.

It was a quiet day. That didn't bode well for her. Joffrey would likely still have all sorts of sadistic urges that he would want to act out. His favorite target was herself. She supposed she should be glad Robb hadn't made any further advances. At least she wouldn't be subjected to a public stripping again.

At the memory, her eyes were drawn to the shadow that followed the King everywhere. He looked just as bored and stoic as always, staring out at nothing in particular. As if he felt the weight of her gaze, his eyes lifted to where she sat above the throne room. Flushing deeply at having been caught, she offered him a fleeting smile, which he did not return. He simply kept watching her for another moment before looking back at nothing.

She imagined she could still feel the warm weight of his cloak on her naked shoulders. She had imagined it many times since, a sort of way to take herself out of the moment when bad things happened or she was frightened.

Joffrey adjourned court and Sansa waited near the steps she had descended to see if he had any need of her, holding out some hope that he wouldn't. Hope, however, was dashed as usual when he requested she walk around the garden with him.

The walk was boring and dull. Joffrey seemed to have forgotten all about her as he walked far off in front of her, leaving her to lag behind with the shadow of the Hound looming over her. It was how she preferred it, actually. A far better fate than if Joffrey had focused his attention on her. They had reached one of the stone overlooks of the coast when Joffrey dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She curtsied gratefully to him and turned to take her leave, the Hound following shortly behind.

A few steps down the walk, her foot caught on a loose stone. In the brief half second before she stumbled forward, a cold rush of fear flooded her belly. If Joffrey saw her fall, he would either be angry at her for her actions reflecting poorly on him, or he would mock her and make fun of her. Either way, it was going to be awful. And she had been so close to leaving unscathed for the day.

Before she had hardly lurched forward, a large hand wrapped around her upper arm. Warm, firm, and surprisingly gently for it's size. Once he had her steady, he dropped his hand back to his side.

"Watch your step." he warned her in a harsh whisper. "You clumsy girl."

Sansa quickly looked up at him, then back at Joffrey. No one had noticed her clumsiness. She breathed a breath of relief and looked back up at the Hound.

"I thank you, My..." she trailed off, knowing he would snap at her if she addressed him as Lord. "Thank you."

Sandor gave her an odd look, then motioned forward with a jerk of his head. "Come on, little bird. Back to your cage."


	18. Here, drink this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #18. Here, drink this.
> 
> Sandor has a foul mouth. But you knew this. Let's just say this warning applies to all of these. :D

He looked terrible. Eyes sunken, unscarred cheek flushed with fever, hair lank and sticking to his forehead with sweat. He moaned and grumbled when Sansa urged him up off the sofa and led him into his bedroom, wondering how long he'd been like this before she became so worried she'd used the emergency key he'd given her.

"You look terrible." she commented as she helped him lay down.

"Thank you very fucking much, princess." he rasped, then started coughing, hunching in on himself as he did so. Sansa winced in sympathy, but couldn't help appreciate how the action caused all his delicious amounts of chest, stomach, and back muscles to do very wonderful things. Thank whatever god made him too hot to wear a shirt.

When he groaned in pain and lay back against the pillows, his big body shivering, Sansa instantly regretted enjoying any part of this. Lifting her hand, she pushed his sweaty hair from his forehead and felt his hot skin.

"You're burning up."

Sandor squeezed his eyes shut and batted her hand away.

"If you keep up your damn chirping, my head is going to explode. It's your bloody fault I'm sick anyway."

" _I_ told you I didn't need you to walk me home. And you're the one who refused the umbrella even though it was pouring rain and freezing cold."

"Always my damn fault." he grumbled, but he was too tired to keep up with his normal harshness.

With a sigh, Sansa turned out his bedroom light and grabbed his apartment key before leaving. A little while later she came back with a few bags of groceries and silently unloaded them in his tiny kitchen. Pouring a glass of water, she added two tablets and stirred until they stopped fizzing, then filled another with orange juice.

He had moved since she'd left him. Now he lay at an awkward sprawl on his stomach across the bed, on top of the covers, one well muscled arm hanging off the mattress.

Sansa silently came in and sat the orange juice on his nightstand.

"Can't you let me die in peace?" he asked without opening his eyes, making Sansa smile.

"Sit up for just a moment, and then I'll leave you be." With lots of grunts and groans, he lifted himself to sitting on the edge of the bed so he faced her. His eyes looked a little bloodshot from the fever. Even his scowl was pitiful.

"What?" he couldn't even manage to snap.

"Here." she held out the glass of water. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"What is it?" he took the glass. "Cyanide?" Still, he downed the glass in one go, wincing a little at the taste. Once she took the glass back from him, he flopped back on the bed, not even bothering to lift his legs back onto the mattress.

"There's some orange juice next to your cell on your nightstand. And I left some soup and crackers in your kitchen. If you need anything else, just call me." With that, she took the dirty glass and started to leave him.

His nearly whispered 'thank you' made up for all his sick surliness.


	19. Can I hold your hand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #19. Can I hold your hand?

Sansa stood at the edge of the rocky cliff, looking down at the clear blue waters lapping gently below. She couldn't believe she was actually considering this. Everyone else in their group had already jumped, multiple times, but Sansa was content with watching until Arya called her a chicken one too many times and even Jeyne had laughed at her.

So, here she was, actually considering throwing herself off of a rocky ledge and to the water below. She was completely mental. But she was _not_ a chicken.

"You going to jump, or just talk yourself out of it again?" the steel on stone voice asked from just behind her and Sansa looked back to glare at him. His hair was wet and his shorts were hanging low on his hips from the water weighing them down. He had jumped at least six times since they'd gotten there. Along with everyone else.

Tearing her eyes away from the unwanted distraction of his divine body, she looked back at the water below.

"I'm going to. Just...in my own time." Or, maybe never. Only Arya would never let her live it down.

"Want me to go with you?" Sandor asked, moving to stand next to her and look down at the water as well. Sansa glanced up at him in surprise, but he didn't look away from the water.

"What?" she asked. Sandor shrugged.

"Margaery didn't want to go until Bronn went with her. And Gendry had flat refused before Arya jumped with him, the pussy."

Sansa thought about pointing out those were both couples in relationships that trusted each other, but held her tongue. The thought of going with him actually did make the prospect of jumping easier. She did trust Sandor. He always made her feel safer when he was around.

Looking back at the water, she took a deep breath. "Can I hold your hand?"

Sandor didn't answer her, or turn to face her. Instead, he reached out and wrapped her hand up in his much larger one, cooled from his time in the water. And together they jumped, Sansa screaming out in joy the entire way down.


	20. You can borrow mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #20. You can borrow mine.

As it was her first day of graduate school, Sansa woke up especially early to shower and dress in the outfit she had laid out the night before. She took the time to get her hair just right, ate a perfectly balanced breakfast, and then gathered up her things in her newly purchased messanger bag and headed to class.

She was the first one there, beating even the teacher, and took a seat in the front row since she didn't want to miss a thing during her Psych lectures. Using the time she had, she carefully laid out her text book, a fresh notebook, and her favorite purple ink pen to take notes. Then she waited as the more students trickled in, and then finally the teacher just before the bell rang.

He was not at all what she was expecting in a university professor with his shoulder length black hair, scarred up face, and shabby clothing. His tie wasn't done up right and didn't match his shirt. Not to mention the sheer size of him. Under an incredibly muscled arm, he carried a few books, and a bag over the other. Dumping them all onto his desk at the front of the room, he quickly scanned the class. When his eyes, grey and a little wild looking, caught on hers they lingered a moment and Sansa felt herself flush for no good reason.

He spared little time introducing himself as Professor Clegane before flipping on the overhead and launching into his first lecture as he paced the front of the room. Sansa quickly picked up her pen and began jotting down whatever he said was important, and things he didn't. She would occasionally look up from her papers or the projector and find him looking back at her, but he would easily glance away like it had just been a coincidence, which likely it was.

He had just said the next segment was needed for an exam that would be given at the end of the week when the ink stopped coming out of her pen. With a whispered ' _crap_ ' she silently dug around in her bag for another pen, only to realize she didn't have one. Meanwhile, Professor Clegane kept going on with the most important part of his lecture. Starting to feel a little frantic, she pulled her bag into her lap and started digging around even more desperately, hoping somehow there was a forgotten pen or pencil somewhere down in there.

Tears were just starting to sting her eyes when a large hand entered her field of vision and sat a pen down on her notebook. She stopped her digging and followed the arm up to find professor Clegane staring down at her.

"You can borrow mine." he said and for some reason Sansa felt the rasping tenor slide down her spine now that he was directing his words at her. "I expect you to be better prepared from now on, Miss Stark."

"Yes, sir." she nodded, smiling at him in thanks.

"Drop the 'sir'. Clegane will work." he quickly corrected her.

"Well, thank you, then, Professor Clegane." she felt the need to put on the distinguishing title, if only for her own good. A reminder of his status over her.

At least until the end of the semester.


	21. You might like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #21. You might like this. 
> 
> Pure utter fluff. Seriously, it's tooth rotting. And I love it :)

"Have you ever wondered how the birds fly?" Sansa asked, breaking the companionable silence they had been riding in since earlier that morning. Sandor looked up in the direction she was to find a group of birds flitting from one tree to another. Looking back down at the girl sitting sideways in the saddle in front of him, he almost smiled at the look of wonder on her face as she watched the birds.

"No more than I wonder how the fish breathe under water."

Sansa looked away from the sky and turned her head towards him, a small smile on her lips. She hadn't been so happy when he had found her in the Vale a short week ago, hair no longer red but still the same little bird he had thought about so often.

"Is that very often, then?" she asked.

"Do you wonder it often?" he asked without answering her question. Sansa sighed and looked back at the sky.

"Perhaps not. But I've often dreamed of how it would be to sprout wings and fly away."

"Where would you fly?" he questioned.

"Someplace safe." Her voice took on a wistful tone and Sandor frowned.

"You're safe now. So long as I have breath in my lungs and steel in my hand, I'll keep you safe." he realized belatedly what he had said, and with such vehemence. Quickly, he added, "And once I get you to the Wall, the Lord Commander will do the same."

Sansa didn't face him again, but lowered her head to look at her hands folded in her lap with a heavy sigh. He kicked himself for it. Just moments ago she had seemed so happy. So carefree.

An idea struck. One that would hopefully lift her from her sadness once more.

"Face forward." he instructed. "Straddle the horse with a leg on each side."

Her head snapped up to look at him. "Whatever for?"

"Just do it." he pushed, wrapping an arm around her waist to help steady her as she moved to do as he bade. She kept her skirts smoothed down so she was modestly covered, or to his eyes at least.

"What are we doing?" she asked as he leaned into her back and grasped the reins with both hands.

"You might like this." he said in her ear, unable to help himself as he drew in her scent, gratified when Sansa all but melted back into him.

Giving his horse a sharp kick to the flanks, it took off at a dead run, Sandor's thighs tightening around Sansa's to support her better as she let out a shocked, but delighted cry.

As they continued running through the open field, Sansa leaned forward, eyes closed and face tilted up towards the sky as the wind whipped through her hair. The smile on her face was so peaceful, so content Sandor smiled as well, firm in his knowledge she couldn't see the twisted mess it made of his face.

And then he saw the tear leak from her closed eyelid and run back into her hair.

"Are you alright?" he asked in her ear so she would hear him over the wind rushing past them.

"Lovely." she answered without opening her eyes, her arms coming up to spread open at her sides. Like wings. "It feels like flying. It feels like freedom."


	22. It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #22. It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look.

"Give me the box."

"No."

"Please, give me the box."

"Bugger off. It's too heavy."

"Come on, Sandor. I'm the reason you lost your job. The least I can do is carry that stupid box."

"And you'll lose yours too if the boss man sees his pretty little bird touching the dog. Let the damn box go."

"I already put in my resignation last week. Now, please. Your arms are full. Let me have the box."

"You quit?"

"Yes. Can I have the box now?"

"No. Why in the fuck would you quit?"

"You know why. Please, let me carry it."

"I already told you, little bird, it's too heavy for you."

Sansa paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. She had a feeling he was referring to far more than the stupid box of his personal things from his desk he was trying to balance along with the bags of his things from the company gym that he had in his locker. His literal baggage had little on his emotional baggage.

Stepping up to him, she grasped the box firmly above his own hands and met his eyes head on, letting him see the seriousness with which she spoke. Wanting him to see she meant what she was about to say in every way.

"It's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look."

A moments hesitation. Both of them holding their ground. Finally, he relented. Relinquishing his hold on the box, trusting her with this and so much more as they left the building together.


	23. I'll wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #23. I'll wait.
> 
> In my head this is WWII era, but it can be whatever your little heart desires ;)

Sandor's uniform felt too tight and his stomach felt uneasy. He kept telling himself it was because of the war he was getting ready to head off to, that it had nothing to do with who he was waiting for.

He glanced around the train station, seeing the other men in their uniforms embracing those that they loved, sharing one last hug, one last kiss before they left. Perhaps the last ever. He looked at the clock on the wall and sighed. She wasn't coming. He was an idiot to think she would. Two days. They'd only known each other for two damn days.

Sandor met her at a dance hall. One he hadn't wanted to go to, but his commanding officer had instructed him to. There she had graced him with her smile. There she had coaxed him into dancing, choosing him over the gaggle of other men vying for her attention. They had spent the last two days together, hardly leaving each others sides. She was likely the only person on this earth that would care that he was leaving or that he might not make it back.

Or perhaps she didn't. She wasn't here, after all.

Bending down, he grabbed his duffle bag and hoisted it over his shoulder as he made his way to the train, ready to leave and start his fight in this damn war.

"Sandor!" a voice shouted, rising above the hum of other voices in the station. Sandor turned around, his height allowing him to see over the crowd and spot her flame of red hair. She smiled widely at him as she bounced on tiptoe waving a hand towards him. "Wait!"

Dropping his duffle, not giving a shit if it was there when he returned or not, he shouldered and shoved his way through the crowed until he reached her, hesitating once he did, wanting nothing more than to sweep her into his arms but not knowing if he should. Sansa dropped her little white purse to the ground and threw her arms around his neck. Sandor responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground and burying his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of her.

"I'm so sorry I almost missed you." she said once he sat her back on her feet. "My cab was late, and then it blew a tire so I had to run the rest of the way. I didn't think I'd reach you in time."

"Silly little bird." he cupped her face in both his hands, shaking his head. "You didn't have to do that for an old dog like me."

"Hush." she smiled. "I wouldn't have missed saying goodbye for the world. I needed to tell you how much I'll miss you and that I can't wait until I see you again."

Sandor let his hands fall with a self disgusted sigh. "I'll be gone for years, Sansa."

"I'll wait." she grabbed his wrist, squeezing gently.

"I might not come back at all."

She shifted closer to him and cupped his scarred cheek with her free hand, holding his gaze resolutely. "I'll wait."

And so she would. For three years. Three years full of letters and pictures. Three years until he came back with half his leg blown off and her sweet smile waiting for him at the station.


	24. Just because.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #24. Just because.
> 
> Mentions of abuse.

Sandor tried to keep her at a distance. It wasn't all that hard to do. At first she had never actively saught him out, if anything she had avoided him at all costs. But as time went on, and he steered her out of harms way and gave her ways to keep out of Joffrey's ire, she stopped avoiding him. And his attempts at distance started to crumble.

The first time Joffrey caused her to bleed, Sandor had cleaned her up. Ever since then, if Sandor wasn't there to direct Joffrey's anger elsewhere and it landed on Sansa, she came to him. Tonight it was a busted lip.

Sansa sat quietly on the closed toilet seat lid while Sandor wet a rag with warm water before kneeling in front of her. She barely flinched when he dabbed the cut the first time.

"Why don't you leave?" he whispered harshly in case there was someone lingering in the hall outside. Sansa's eyes went wide as they watched him rinse the rag and turn back to her.

"I have no place to go." she said softly. "My family is all...they're gone. I have no money. Joffrey has made certain I have no friends. I have nothing." she whispered the last part, then swallowed hard, her tears not falling. She hardly ever cried any more.

Sandor stayed silent as he finished cleaning her lip of her blood, his own boiling with anger on her behalf. Once he was finished, he tossed the soiled rag into the sink, then grasped both of her knees, leaning in so she was forced to look at him.

"I can take you away." he offered in a low voice.

Her breath shuddered and her carefully blank expression crumbled. Her _"Why?"_ was barely more than a breath.

"Just." he ground his teeth together, wondering how to explain it to her when he hardly understood it himself. "Because."

She didn't answer, but nodded. It was only a slight movement of her head as a single tear slipped free, but Sandor saw it all the same. Grasping the back of her neck, he pressed his forehead to hers for a moment before standing and offering her his hand.

There was no hesitation at all from her before she put her own in his.


	25. Look both ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #25. Look both ways.
> 
> Yes, it's a clichéd zombie apocalypse fic. Because I'm a nerd :)

When the dead no longer stayed dead, money no longer mattered. Deals were made the old fashioned way, with trading and bartering.

The community Sandor was living in, The Rock, was run by Jaime Lannister. They manufactured ammunition, weapons, and dealt in lumber. What they didn't have, however, was the means to grow their own food or raise livestock. The group they traded with the most, from a community that called themselves the Wolves, had greenhouses that supplied crops all year long, and raised pigs, chickens, goats, and a few cows.

The first time Sandor had gone with Jaime, as his muscle, to deal with the groups leader, which turned out to be a woman named Sansa Stark, Sandor had nearly laughed. She was a little thing that didn't look capable of harming a fly let alone surviving the zombie apocalypse, even with her combat boots and Bowie knife strapped to her thigh. She'd quickly proven him wrong. She was quick and fierce and fiery. Not to mention smart, reasonable, and strong willed. Sansa Stark was a damn good leader.

It had taken a whole two deals for Sandor to become completely obsessed and Jaime never did do a deal with her without Sandor being there again.

Sansa always brought along her own muscle, a woman near as big as himself, named Brienne that turned the golden Lannister upside down. This suited Sandor just fine. At least he wasn't making eyes at Sansa. For her part, Sansa always met his eye and never cringed away from his scars. She spoke with him, teased him, laughed at his shitty jokes, and when they shook hands at the end of every deal, he was certain her fingers lingered in his a little longer than normal.

Today was no different as he helped Sansa unload the food from the women's truck onto theirs while Jaime and Brienne unloaded theirs. Today she even grasped his hips in both her hands when he turned around and almost knocked her off the back of the truck.

"Watch it." he warned her, trying for harsh but missing the mark as she smiled and gave him a little squeeze before apologizing.

Once the trucks were loaded and Jaime and Sansa had shaken hands, Sandor immediately felt that same discomfiture that always came when she left.

"We saw a horde about nine miles east." Jaime warned them, speaking more to Brienne than Sansa.

"We'll keep our eyes open." Sansa assured him, looking at Sandor and offering her hand. Sandor took it, a thrill of panic tightening his gut at the thought of this woman out there on her own facing down a horde. Never mind she'd been doing it for years now.

"You damn well better." he growled, gripping her hand a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Just..." _Stay with me. Let me come with you_. "Look both ways."

An amused smile spread across her face and she laughed lightly.

"Will do, Clegane." she slowly pulled her hand free of his and pulled herself into the passenger seat of their old U-Haul as Brienne revved the engine and they drove away, Jaime and Sandor watching after them.

"Look both ways?" Jaime laughed.

"Fuck off." Sandor turned back towards their truck. "Least I'm not the one walking around with a damn hard on in my pants."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor saw Jaime quickly check his crotch, where there was no boner visible, before huffing out a laugh. Served the golden cunt right. Sandor wasn't the only completely smitten one out of the two.


	26. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #26. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

"Wait up a damn minute!" Sandor growled, almost getting a door to the face as he tried to follow her out of the pub.

"Why?" Sansa snapped, spinning on her heel so fast Sandor nearly ran into her.

"Christ, what the hell is up with you?" He grabbed her shoulders to steady both himself and her. Sansa slapped his hands away and took a step back, hands on her hips and pretty blue eyes shooting daggers at him.

"Well, excuse me if I don't want to sit in there and watch you with your...your stupid hussy!"

Sandor bit the inside of his bottom lip to keep from laughing. But it was highly amusing that even spitting mad Sansa Stark refused to curse. Then what she had actually said filtered through and his amusement turned to confusion.

"What?" he shook his head. "My hussy? The fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't you play dumb with me, Sandor Clegane!" she lifted one hand from her hip to point back at the pub door. "That woman in there. The one you were all over. I realize you are free to be with whomever you want, but do you have to do it right in front of me?"

"First off, you are damn right I'm free to do whatever the fuck I want with whoever I want. Second, I still don't know what the fuck you are talking about. What woman?"

"The blonde just in there. Have you drank so much tonight you can't even remember her?"

"One fucking beer, little bird, so watch it. And that blonde in there is Ella. She's here for Bronn. Only Bronn didn't show."

"So she went for you instead, then?" Sansa sneered, which reminded him much of his own, and crossed her arms.

"No." he nearly shouted, then took a deep breath. "No. She was leaving. For some fucking reason she decided to hug me before she did. I don't know why. Women are fucking confusing. I didn't know what to do so I hugged her back. But really, Sansa, I have no idea why it would be such a big fucking deal to you anyway."

"Because of you, dang it!" she took a step towards him and jabbed a perfectly manicured nail into his chest. "You...you...you! You made me care and now..."

"Stop that." he grabbed her finger from poking him, because it hurt like a bitch. "I didn't know you cared."

"Yeah, well," she sighed, looking at his hand still grasping her finger. "It's your fault. And now I'm jealous." she said it like it was an annoying inconvenience.

"I'm sorry." he gave her finger a squeeze before releasing her. "I didn't mean to."

"To make me care, or make me jealous?" Her face went this pretty shade of red, now from embarrassment instead of anger, and Sandor nearly laughed out loud at the prospect of him making this woman jealous. He didn't, though. He didn't fancy pissing off a girl that just basically declared herself to him by laughing at her. Especially this girl.

"Didn't know you cared." he reached up and ran a thumb along her cheek bone. "Didn't know I could make you jealous." She stared up at him with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling a little quickly.

"Now you do." she almost whispered and Sandor grinned at her, making sure to only lift the good corner of his mouth.

"Now I do." he dropped his hand and motioned back towards the pub door with his head. "Come back inside. I'll buy you a drink."


	27. Try some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #27. Try some.
> 
> Very smutty. :D

Fuck all the gods he didn't believe in. Damn all of them to whatever hell some sorry sod had made up all those years ago.

This. This was heaven. This is where the Hound found his redemption.

The insides of her thighs were the softest thing he'd ever touched. Her breasts the perfect size to fill his palms. There was a stretch of skin just below her right ear that if he licked just softly enough, her knees would buckle.

He was baptized in the wetness she created for him. Destroyed and remade in the heat of her body.

She tasted hot, if heat could have a taste, and salty with just enough sweetness to make his mouth water. She was better than any sour red he'd ever drank in his life and he thought he could drink off of her until he drown and die a happy man. Her thighs quaked around his head, her fingers pulling his hair until it stung. He licked at her deeper, wanting to get every last bit of it before she ultimately pushed his head away when his scruff and tongue became too much for her oversensitive nerves.

"Gods, woman, you taste good." he rasped, one last lick to gather her ecstasy on his tongue.

"I do?" she whispered, voice shaky and unsteady in the aftermath of her orgasm. He crawled over her, his naked body rising above hers.

"Here" he leaned down until his lips hovered just over hers. "Try some." Before she could refuse, or turn her head, he kissed her hard, shoving his tongue into her mouth and painting it with her own taste. She must have liked it just as well as he did because she sucked hard on his tongue, a hungry little moan in the back of her throat. He decided it wasn't so bad to share, if this is the reaction she gave him.


	28. Drive safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #28. Drive Safely.
> 
> A bit o' angst. It's resolved pretty quickly.

Sansa stood on the curb and watched as Sandor tossed the last of his bags into the back of his beat up old car before slamming the door. Despite the warm weather, she felt a chill and wrapped her arms around herself to ward it off. Not that the coldness inside of her had anything to do with the temperature outside.

He wasn't leaving her, she kept reminding herself. He was leaving for a job, a good one that paid amazing with great benifits. It was an opprotunity he couldn't give up and she would never ask him of it. She would stay here, finish her last year of university, and then follow him. They would talk, of course. There would be Skype and letters and seeing each other over breaks, but Sansa feared it wouldn't be enough. She was so scared of losing him now that she'd only just found him.

With a hard scowl on his face, Sandor joined her on the curb, his goodbye stilted and awkward, still not comfortable with emotional overtures. When he turned back to the car, saying he had to go, Sansa caught his wrist and even though he was more than twice her size and had at least three times her strength, he let her pull him back to her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest as she desperately tried not to sob. Sandor wrapped his arms around her and held her so tightly it became hard to breathe.

"I'm going to miss you." she said into his chest. She felt the scratchiness of his beard as he pressed his face into her hair.

"It's not goodbye, little bird." he reminded her. "It's just see you later."

"Still doesn't mean I won't miss you." she countered and he pressed what felt like a kiss to the crown of her head.

"I really have to go." he pushed her away gently. "I'm going to miss my flight."

Sansa sniffed and wiped her face, giving him a weak smile as he rounded the car, looking for all the world like he was mad at her but Sansa didn't know what she had done. He was the one leaving, not her. She wanted to beg him to stay, but bit back the request.

"Drive safe." she called after him, sounding almost desperate.

Car door slamming, engine revving, he pulled out of the spot and Sansa turned to make her way back inside. She'd just gotten up the stairs when the sound of tires squealing on pavement brought her around. She turned to find Sandor's car jerking into reverse and the tires screeched once again as he flew backwards and crookedly parked back in the spot he'd just left.

Sansa almost tripped running back to the sidewalk as Sandor got out with an even harsher scowl, slamming the door so hard it bounced and didn't latch. Her heart was in her throat as he marched up to her and literally swept her off her feet, his mouth crashing against hers almost painfully. She didn't care. She kissed him back just as hard, wrapping her legs around his waist and not giving a damn that they were standing on a public street in the middle of the day.

"Ask me to stay." he demanded harshly against her mouth, hands clutching her hair so she couldn't get too far away.

"I can't..." his mouth bit at hers again.

"You can." he demanded. "Fuck the job. Fuck the money. I've been poor my entire goddamn life. What's another year? There'll be other jobs later. Just tell me you don't want me to leave."

Sansa choked on a combination of a laugh and a sob as she kissed him again, whispering her 'stay' into his mouth as she kissed him once more.


	29. Well, what do you want to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #29. Well, what do you want to do?

It was such a cliché Sansa almost wanted to laugh. It felt in that moment that someone had written this as a script for one of those rom com movies she watched all the time with Jeyne.

_Somewhat single woman traveling alone with a painfully single man, humorous bickering, latent attraction, fraught emotions, copious amounts of UST, complete with a bed and breakfast owned by an elderly couple that were well meaning but entirely too nosey._

Her reasons for being here were just as trite and cliché as the current situation, which involved her and Sandor, her pretend fiancé (of course), standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorway to their room at the B&B, neither talking as they took in the room. And the lone bed.

Of course there was a lone bed. What kind of humorous but heartwarming script would it be without the lone bed?

Sandor moved first, stepping the rest of the way inside so they weren't standing in the hall any longer. They both moved to the foot of the bed and did a little more staring, Sansa's heart in her throat and her face feeling a little too warm. Sandor dropping their bags to the floor was loud in the otherwise quiet room, causing Sansa to jump.

"Well." he flopped down on the bed, leaning back on his elbows as he braced his feet wide on the floor. "What do you want to do?"

And, there it was. So, not a rom com. Sandor wouldn't be chivalrous by offering her the bed while he slept on the cold wooden floor. Of course he wouldn't. It was silly of her to think he ever would. But Sansa knew he would do so if she asked. He'd likely bitch and moan about it all night and likely the rest of the way to Winterfell, but he would do it.

Not letting him see her discomposure, Sansa picked up her bag from the floor.

"Shower and then sleep." she started to the attached bathroom. Just before she closed the door, she leaned back out.

"Oh, and Sandor?" he tilted his head to the side to look at her. "You'd better have a shower after me. If we are to sleep in the same bed, I'd rather us both smell nice."

When Sandor chuckled and winked, Sansa flushed again, then quickly shut the door.

At least she had a brand new pack of razors in her bag. And the box of condoms Arya had so graciously shoved in there as well.


	30. One more chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #30. One more chapter.

There was something about his voice that was as distinctive as his scars or his harsh nature. Sansa had heard it discribed as sounding like steel scraping stone. It was an apt discription. His voice was sharp and rasping, Sandor saying it was a product of having inhaled flames or smoke when he had been burnt.

Regardless of the reason, Sansa loved it. Something about the cadence, the sharp rasp carried over a deep rumble, soothed her in a way a thunderstorm often soothed others. It lulled her, put her at peace, wrapped her up and made her feel safe. It also ignited a flame in her belly that other men had failed to stoke with their hands or mouths.

Sandor was confused by her affinity for his voice, something he had never liked about himself. Not that there was much he liked about himself. But he didn't have to understand it. And like most everything else, he indulged her in it.

Tonight she lay at his side as he sat propped up in bed. Her head rested on his naked chest, her equally naked body wrapped around him like a snake. As he spoke, Sansa let her eyes fall closed, the words no longer being defined, lost in the flowing peace that Sansa found in the moment. She liked the rumble of his chest against her cheek and the gentle rise and fall of his lungs as he kept reading. She liked the steady drum of his heart beneath her ear, all of it converging until she was on the brink of sleep.

Sandor finished reading, his chest going quiet except for the beating of his heart, a soft thump as he shut the book and took a deep breath. Sansa shifted, burrowing her face deeper into the pillow of his chest hair.

"One more chapter." she asked sleepily. Sandor chuckled, another rumble in his chest.

"You always want one more chapter." he complained, but opened the book nonetheless and continued reading until Sansa fell asleep against him.


	31. Don't worry about me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #31. Don't worry about me.
> 
> Angst. Like, that's all this is. And mentions of abuse, because Joffrey.

Sandor Clegane stood almost seven foot tall and weighed in over 16 stone. He was broad and tall and muscled like a bull. He was large in every conceivable way. His size had often masked his agility and quickness, and he used it as a weapon, hiding it until it suited him best and he took his opponant.

At the moment, he was hiding nothing. He had long since shed his armor so he could move quicker through the trees and undergrowth, his sword at his hip. With a hand firmly grasping Sansa's thin wrist, he all but drug her along with him. She had kept up fairly well in the beginning, but the girl had no stamina and until Sandor stopped and jerked her skirts up to her thighs and forced her to hold them there with her free hand, she kept tripping over them.

Propriety be damned. What good was propriety when they were dead if they were caught?

Sandor had finally had enough standing outside the boykings bedchambers as he listened to the little birds pleas for mercy and then her bloodcurdling screams. He'd burst through the door to find her mostly naked, bent over the foot of Joffrey's bed as the king himself beat her arse bright red and raw with a strip of leather. Perhaps it was because he'd been unusually sober at the time, but the scene put Sandor in a killing rage, and kill he did. He'd quickly dressed a sobbing Sansa afterwards, and together they had fled. As there were no ships leaving the port at Kings Landing until the next day, they had ran towards the port at Duskendale.

As they breeched the woods just outside the port city, Sandor abruptly pulled to a halt, Sansa slamming into his back. Ignoring her, he looked behind them and could just make out the noises of the horses coming. They were out of time. Grabbing the bag of coin from his boot, Sandor shoved it in her hand.

"Here." he jerked his cloak off and wrapped it around her, making certain her red hair was covered. "Take the first ship out of here to White Harbor. Don't give them your name. You'll be safe once you reach the North."

"What of you?" she asked, wide eyed and afraid.

"Don't worry about me."

"But..." Sandor cut her off crudely with his lips against hers. It was a kiss taken and not given, but it was all he had time for and if he were going to die, then at least he would die with the memory of her lips against his.

"Go." he shoved her roughly towards the docks. She stumbled, still watching him. She looked scared and perhaps a little sad, but she turned and ran like the good girl she was.

Sandor turned his back on her, unsheathing his sword as he waited. He could take two men, perhaps even three or four. He couldn't take an entire scouting party. But that wasn't the point. The point was to give her enough to time get out and get home. It was enough. The most he could ever give her.


	32. It looks good on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #32. It looks good on you.
> 
> A little smut to make up for the angst of yesterday :D

Sansa Stark was a sweet girl. Demured and polite. She always remembered her manners and if you asked anyone they would say how ladylike she was.

Sandor Clegane considered himself one lucky bastard to know how far from the truth that was.

While, yes, Sansa was as polite and courteous as a sweet little bird while in public, she became something else entirely when they were alone in bed. It was like she couldn't shoulder the effort of keeping up the façade once it was just him and her and the heat between them and shed it gratefully. She became wild and passionate, unbridled in her pursuit of pleasure.

Before her, Sandor had never considered that he would like such a forceful bed partner. Women before her had tended to want to allow him to control everything, laying back and getting off on his strength. Sansa wanted to match his strength with her own sort. And sex had never been so fucking good.

She rode him like a goddess. Back arched, eyes closed, musical voice lifted high as she shouted to the ceiling. Her nails bit painfully into his thighs as she braced herself with arms behind her. She liked to goad him, scratching and biting and hitting all his wonderful buttons until his restraint broke and he flipped her onto her back and finally gave her what they both wanted. Nobody would believe him if he told them of the pure and utter filth that sometimes streamed from her pretty little mouth as he fucked her into the mattress. He had trouble believing it himself at times. Right now, it was hard not to believe in the reality of it as her nails bit sharply into his shoulder blades and drew burning lines down his back towards his ass while she begged him to fuck her harder, to go deeper.

When they were finished and he showered, the hot water hitting his back caused him to hiss at the renewed sting, but he kind of liked it. It reminded him it had all been real. Getting out and drying, he angled himself in the mirror so he could see his back. Five red ribbons decorated his skin on either side of his spine. He smirked at them.

"It looks good on you." Sandor turned around to find Sansa leaning in the doorway, still naked as her nameday, hair a tangled mess, fingertip sized bruises on her hips and red marks down her ribs from his own blunt nails. There was another mark blooming just under her collarbone. She looked well and thoroughly fucked.

"Looks good on you, too." he grinned and Sansa laughed, head thrown back and cheeks flushed.

Yep. He was one lucky son of a bitch.


	33. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #33. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.
> 
> I actually hated this one. It took me so long to figure out something to write with it. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I just had to move on.

She'd been sick. Not a real bad sick, but sick nontheless. At first Sandor wasn't worried. It was a stomach bug, is all. But after he found her vomiting into the toilet one too many times, he started to get worried. When she told him she was pregnant, it never really registered other than a reason behind her sick spells. Sansa gushed about it, of course. She bought all the prenatal vitimans and stuck to the right diets. She bought parenting magazines and baby catalogs. He would find her up in the middle of the night on her tablet scrowling through baby name websites.

It was distant thing to Sandor. As he had given up drinking a while back when it became apparent he had a problem, it wasn't like there was a big shift in things. For the last few years they hadn't gone to bars or drinking. When they had sex, or he saw her out coming out of the shower, there was no outward change to her body. It was just something in the back of his mind that niggled occasionally, but there wasn't anything for him to do so he more or less forgot about it.

Until it was no longer there. He hurt to see her hurt. He worried when she had become withdrawn with her grief. For Sandor's part, he wasn't grieving so much the loss of a baby because in his mind there hadn't been a baby, but he grieved the loss of the hopeful and happy glow of his wife.

It returned, eventually. Things fell back into place. Sandor listened when she wanted to talk about it, but never brought it up himself. Life went on, but something seemed to shift in their relationship. It felt...stronger for having shared grief, no matter that they were grieving different things.

It took another two years, when he came home from work on his birthday and Sansa greeted him in the living room with a wrapped gift. He opened the gift, the set of woodcutting tools he'd been wanting. He tried to thank her, but she sat on the coffee table before him and smiled brightly, nearly bouncing as she held her hands behind her back.

"What is it, woman?" he asked with a brow cocked in amusement.

"Close your eyes." she grinned. "And hold out your hands."

With a roll of his eyes, he did as she asked and a moment later something that felt like a piece of paper was placed in his palm. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the black and white picture in his hands. It took him a moment, but he eventually found the form of the baby on the photo. And it looked like a baby. Not the peanut thing like the last time.

"Look at the next." she encouraged. Sandor hadn't realized there was more than one picture. He moved to the second and there was an arrow pointing to something and words above it read 'it's a boy'. His heart kicked into overdrive.

"A boy." he said dumbly, then looked up at her.

"A boy." she smiled brightly. "I waited to tell you this time, you know, in case...but everything is perfectly healthy and he's perfectly healthy. We're due in less than four months."

"Four months." a laugh bubbled up from his stomach. "A boy. In four months?"

"Yes." Sansa giggled. "A boy in four months. You'll be a daddy in four months, Sandor. To a son."

A son. Sandor slid off the sofa so he was knelt on the floor between her legs, hands going to the slightly rounded belly. He'd noticed the change of her stomach. Of course he'd noticed. Not that he'd minded or really even thought much into it. Maybe she was just indulging in too many lemon cakes, that's what he had thought. But it wasn't lemon cakes. It was a baby. A boy, apparently.

Maybe it was knowing the gender, or maybe it was that the picture actually looked like a baby, or maybe it was that he felt this bitter guilt that he hadn't cared much last time, but it felt real. Very real.

35 years old, and 35 birthdays. None had ever measured up to this one. He had a feeling none ever would.


	34. That's okay, I bought two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #34. That's okay. I bought two.
> 
> Post smut fun!

Sandor wasn't the type of man Sansa had ever thought she would be dating, let alone actually falling for. He didn't care about her last name. He didn't care about her families fortune. He didn't care that she had gone to the best university that money could buy. He didn't care what brand of clothes she wore or how much her purse cost.

At first it had upset Sansa. Their first date she wore a dress that cost over two hundred dollars and her shoes were made especially for her by a leathersmith from Italy. She had spent close to two hours fixing her hair and her makeup. Sandor picked her up, barely casting a glance at her clothes and then they went to a local dive and ate greasy burgers and beer out of bottles. She'd been offended. He hadn't even commented on her clothes!. But then she realized it had been the best night of her life.

She didn't have to put up this false pretense with him. He gave her honesty and only expected the same in return. So maybe he didn't compliment her as much as other guys had, but he cared for her better. He saw _her_ , not a fancy last name or a dollar sign. And he listened to her. With him she realized how little appearance and status mattered.

That didn't mean she didn't still enjoy designer clothes and fancy dinners. Sandor would roll his eyes and scoff, but he went along with it all the same. An expenditure he did happily encourage was her love on expensive lingerie. And Sansa did so love to see his flush and want when she peeled off whatever dress she'd been wearing that he didn't care about and saw what she had beneath.

Tonight it was yellow and black, his favorite colors, though he wouldn't admit it. A tiny triangle covering her womanhood, black lace decorating along the band and stretching over her hips. It had only lasted long enough for his callouses to catch on the silk for a second, then his fingers twisted in the lace and ripped it from her body. Like he had done to countless other pairs. He cared very little that they cost nearly as much as his entire outfit, shoes included. At least the garter belt and bra survived. 

After they'd both tired themselves out and Sansa got up to clean off, she picked up the ruined panties and shot him a teasingly narrow eyed glare.

"Sorry." he said with an arrogant smirk that was anything but sorry.

"That's okay." Sansa tossed the ruined panties into the trash bin, then she tossed him a teasing wink. "I bought two."


	35. After you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #35. After you.
> 
> This one got away from me and became a lot longer than I had intended. Oops lol.

The building he lived in had four apartments per floor. For as long as he had lived there, which had been a handful of years, Sandor had never paid much attention to his neighbors. He knew who they were, what they looked like, had snapped at them enough times that they had stopped trying to make inane small talk with him if they saw him in the halls or in the laundry room downstairs. He had noticed when the couple in the apartment directly across from his moved out. Since he worked mostly nights, he had been irrationally pissed when movers came a few weeks later to move a new tenant in. He had caught glimpses of her after that. A flash of red hair going down the stairs as he came out of his door. A perfect figure half obscured by her door closing as he was coming up the stairs. She was pretty, that much he figured out. And polite. In the mornings when he was just coming home he could hear her out in the halls laughing and talking with the other neighbors when they sometimes met in the hall as they were leaving for work.

A month after she moved in Christmas came and when he trudged in from another long shift on the rig, there was a violently festive tin setting in front of his door. Inside of it were the best cookies he'd ever eaten. A note taped to the top of the tin proclaimed they were from Sansa Stark, 4B.

After that, for some fucking reason, he tried to meet up with her. He hoped he'd see her in the halls or on the stairs, but working on the rig put him home at odd hours and it never happened. Until one morning he'd come home from work on a Saturday to realize he had absolutely no clean clothes. He didn't have to work the next evening, but decided to do laundry then before he went to bed so he would at least have clean sheets. Grabbing up his two sacks of laundry, he lumbered down to the laundry room still in his dirty work clothes. When he got to the basement laundry room, he cursed loudly when he realized he'd forgotten his key upstairs. Just because he was pissed, he kicked the door, then slammed his forehead against the cold metal, not very hard, but enough to jolt.

"Is everything okay?" a familiar voice, though it had never been heard other than through the walls, asked softly from beside him. Heaving himself off the door, he turned to face her, realizing she was ten times prettier than he'd initially thought. Eyes a startling shade of blue scanned his face, lingering on his scars for only a second before meeting his own.

"You're from 4C, aren't you?" she asked.

"I am." he dropped one laundry bag and motioned towards the locked door. "Forgot the damn key upstairs."

"Oh." she smiled, shifting her small pink plastic laundry basket to her hip as she dug into her jeans pocket. "I have mine." Her cheerfulness was enough to annoy him a bit, especially since he hadn't been to sleep in well over 20 hours and he needed a shower and food, but he stepped aside so she could unlock the door. She pulled the heavy metal door open and caught it with her ankle to hold it open.

"After you." she smiled again, motioning him in ahead of her with a tilt of her head. Grabbing up his bags, he nodded his thanks and strode inside. He filled four of the six washers with his clothing, not bothering to separate by color or fabric. He never did. He saw the girl give his loads a horrified look before carefully separating her basket into two washers.

"It's Sansa, right?" he asked without looking up from pouring detergent into the machines. Normally he was in the laundry rooms alone, and if there ever was anyone else there, he avoided conversation. But he didn't like leaving his clothes down here unattended, so he normally stayed. Read a book, or watched the tiny crackling TV that hung in the corner.

Today, for whatever fucking reason, he started the conversation with her. He never did turn on the TV, and Sansa never did pick up her book. Instead, they talked the entire time they waited for their clothes to wash, and then dry. She was sweet but witty. She took his dark humor and turned it back on him, laughed at his bawdy jokes even as she blushed brightly. She was smart enough not to bore him and when he emptied the last dryer of his clothes while she finished up folding hers, he realized he didn't want this to end. Or at least never happen again.

"Have you..." he started at the same time she said, "When is..." They both paused, Sansa laughing.

"Go on." she prompted.

"After you." he conceded, pure hesitation on his part.

"Well," she looked down at her basket and picked at the corner. "I was going to ask when your next day off from work was. And if you maybe wanted to, I don't know, go get some pizza. Or do a movie, or something." Sandor finished picking up his bags of now clean clothes with a smug grin. He couldn't help it and didn't try to hide it. Hell, he'd just been asked out by a pretty girl. He could be a smug bastard all he wanted.

"Sure." he nodded and Sansa smiled brightly, cheeks flushing once again. "Not a fucking chick flick, though. And you better not put pineapple on my pizza."


	36. We'll figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #36. We'll figure it out.

Sansa wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Hadn't she lost enough in her life? Her family, her scholorship, her home, her wealth, everything. Or, almost everything. She still had Bran, and Arya was alive somewhere doing something. And she still had Sandor, who had been there from the very beginning and would likely be there to the very end. Or so she hoped.

He was the one that found her tonight, all cried out and staring blankly at the stack of bills and her checking book on the kitchen table before her. He'd knocked, but used his key to come in.

"That Baelish prick hurt you?" Sandor had asked, noticing her puffy eyes and red nose from crying, taking the chair next to her.

"Not in the sense you think. Or he wanted." she sniffed. After her parents death and the subsequent loss of everything, Petyr had given her a job. But lately he had been wanting...more from her. And she wasn't willing to sell herself for a job. "He fired me."

"Good." Sandor sat back in his chair, long legs stretched out. "I didn't like you working for that dirty old cunt anyway."

"Yes, well now I have bills to pay and no job to make money to pay them. Bran needs surgery. The rent on this place is coming up, the electric bill. Gods, winter is coming and I won't even have the money to pay the gas bill, Sandor!"

She didn't start crying again, but her eyes felt hot and stung so she squeezed them shut and pinched the skin of her temples. Sansa didn't see him move with her eyes shut, but firm hands on the sides of her chair jerking her around, had her eyes flying open to find him kneeling on the cracked linoleum floor. Letting go of the chair, he grasped her thighs just above her knees. With his height, they were more or less eye level.

"We'll figure it out, okay?"

"Sandor, I..." she shook her head, unable to ask him for anything more. Not after he'd done so much. It wasn't like he had the financial ability to support her as well as himself. Not to mention Bran.

"No." he reached up and held her cheeks, pulling her forward until their noses were almost touching. " _We_ will figure it out."


	37. Can I kiss you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #37. Can I kiss you?
> 
> Light angst.

"Can I kiss you?"

Sansa froze with her hands at the knot of Sandor's tie. To say his request was a surprise was a vast understatement, considering she was helping him with his tie because he was fixing to leave for a date. With someone else. Not her. But Sansa wasn't throwing a pity party for herself. No. She was made of sterner stuff. Apparently the stuff that gets wobbly kneed when asked if she can be kissed.

"What?" she whispered, eyes flicking up, but Sandor wasn't looking at her. He was looking at his reflection in the mirror over her shoulder with a pinched looking expression.

"Do guys do that?" he asked. "Do I have to bloody ask?" Sansa wasn't so sure her little bubble popping wasn't audible.

"Oh." she breathed, quickly finishing his tie with a blush as she stepped back. "I, uh..."

"Shit." he looked at her then laughed. "You thought I was asking you?"

"Shut up." she flushed hotly. "I'm here helping you. No reason to mock me." she tried to turn away before he could see her angry embarrassed tears, but he caught her just above the elbow and held her where she was.

"Please let me go." she requested, keeping her eyes on his shoes. Shiny black. Sansa had picked them out. They went well with his charcoal colored slacks and black dress shirt.

"Don't do that. Look at me." he grasped her chin and pulled her head up so she looked at him. Thankfully none of the tears fell. "Do...did you want me to ask you?"

"It's fine, Sandor." she brushed it off with a forced laugh. "You should finish getting ready. You'll need to leave in five minutes at the most if you're to be at her house in enough time to pick her up."

This time, when Sansa pulled away, Sandor let her go. She went back to his living room, kicking herself as she did so, and gathered up her things and put them back in her purse. Sitting on the sofa, she pulled her riding boots back on. She had just stood back up and grabbed her purse when Sandor came out of the bedroom.

"Have a good time tonight." she called over her shoulder without looking at him as she started to open the front door.

"Hang on a second, little bird." Sansa stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She closed her eyes for a brief second, plastering on her smile before she turned to face him. Her smile promptly fell into a confused frown.

"Sandor, why'd you take the tie off? It looked good, I promise."

"I called and canceled." he shrugged. "Fucking hate ties, anyway."

Sansa almost laughed. "You canceled a date just so you didn't have to wear a tie?"

Sandor huffed a laugh and scrubbed a hand over his freshly shaven face. Sansa wasn't going to lie. She missed his beard scruff.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he nodded to himself and strode across the living room until he was standing just in front of her. So close she could smell the aftershave he'd put on at her insistence. All to make him more presentable for another woman. Sansa thought he was pretty perfect either way, but she knew his scars could be offensive and couldn't stomach the idea of some woman shunning him.

Angling his head to the side as he took a step even closer, those wild eyes of his scanning over her face before one big hand came up to cup her cheek so gently it seemed funny. Something so big and rough being so soft and gentle. Her heart leaped into her throat and she forgot how to breathe.

"Can I kiss you?"


	38. I like your laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #38. I like your laugh.

Sansa adored Sandor for several reasons, though he was still confused as to why. He was protective and honest and safe and loyal and funny in a dark sort of way and he made her feel perfect without having to try. He had a hard time with intimacy, which Sansa understood. Love was a foreign prospect to him. She actually didn't mind. He showed how he cared in quieter ways, every day things, and that's what counted.

Sandor was many things, but overly jovial was not one of them. He didn't smile easily (he thought it made his face worse) and other than a low chuckle every now and again, he hardly ever laughed. Sansa distinctly remembered the first time she ever heard him laugh all out.

It was early spring and they had been walking through the park on their way to his shop. Although the weather had warmed some, it was still chilly and the pond in the center of the park hadn't quite thawed all the way. As they passed, a goose flew over head and landed on the icy surface. It's big webbed feet slipped and slid and sent the bird into an awkward sprawl and spiral across the ice, a loud, awkward honk added to the silliness. Sansa had slapped a hand over her mouth, equally sad for the poor animal, but still trying not to giggle out loud. Sandor, on the other hand, had no such compunction. He stopped in his stride, head tossed back as he roared with laugher. It was loud and sharp, a deep rumble rasping past vocal cords that had been damaged by smoke, and so honest. He laughed so hard he eventually bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees. Sansa had forgotten the goose, focused on Sandor and his utter joy. She couldn't even scold him for being so uncaring about the birds wellbeing. Besides, it had flown off no worse for the wear. Eventually his laughter petered out into a low chuckle as he stood straight once more, wiping a hand under one eye as he looked down at her. His amusement faded more and his smile twisted into something closer to a sneer.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nothing." Sansa smiled, shaking her head. "I like your laugh."

As with everything else, he didn't believe her at first. Compliments were even harder for him to accept. Eventually he did and Sansa decided she wouldn't mind so much spending the rest of her life trying to make him laugh like that again.


	39. Don't cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #39. Don't cry.

Fire had driven him from the battle, back behind the walls. Fear and rage and humiliation all swirled in his gut. He called for drink and they gave him water. He spit it in their face and demanded wine.

He tried to leave after the first wineskin was empty, not knowing where he was going, when the half man and the boy cunt stopped him.

_"Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city. Fuck the King."_

Three sentences. Nine words. With them, he sealed his fate.

No one stopped him as he left after that. He found more wine. He drank until he didn't so much care that he would likely lose his head. He walked the holdfast mostly unseen, and those he did pass didn't give a shite he was there. They had no idea of his cowardice during battle or his treason afterwards. He found himself sitting on her bed, though he had no memory of coming here. He dropped the empty wineskins at his feet while he slowly drew from the fresh one. He'd lost count of how many. Green flames danced outside her window as he waited, though he wasn't sure what he waited for.

And then she was there. And he was suddenly angry all over again. At this girl. Damn this fucking girl. He should have been long gone before now, but instead he was in her chambers, some part of him wanting her to come with him so he could keep her safe. Another wanting to hurt her for making him care at all. With the wine and the fire muddling his mind, he wasn't sure which part would win out.

When he ended up over her, his knife held to her thin, fragile throat, he thought then it would be the part that would hurt her. He demanded a song, saying he would take it regardless. Innocent thing she was, she thought he meant an actual song and started to sing. A song of mercy. _Hells_. Mercy. Singing of wanting him to have a better day. But as she sang, like the words said, she soothed his wrath and tamed his fury.

No, he couldn't hurt this girl.

Then her small hand had touched his face, his scars, and he opened his eyes, unaware he'd closed them, and looked down at her face in the flickering green light. He knew what she found there on his skin. Blood and tears. His sin and his shame. She stopped singing, her eyes holding his without even flinching away, her hand still touching him as if it wasn't repulsive to her.

"Don't cry." she whispered, head angling to the side as she brought her other hand up to his good cheek. His body trembled, and he didn't try to pretend it was with the effort to hold himself up. With what remained of his strength, he threw his knife across the room and bowed his head into her shoulder. She said nothing else as he drunkenly purged himself of emotions he'd long since repressed. Just wrapped her thin little arms around his bloody armored shoulders and ran her fingers through lank hair wet with sweat and blood.

When he was able to get up, he wrapped her up in his ruined white cloak, tucking in her pretty red hair. Picking her up like a small child, he carried her to his horse and together they left whatever circle of hell Kings Landing had become.


	40. I made this for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #40. I made this for you.
> 
> Sorry I've been MIA for a bit. I coach a high school softball team and we were at a tournament and I didn't have my computer with me (or the time to post). Thank you for being patient with me! Enjoy :)

It occured to Sansa that after two years passed since Sandor had come back with Arya from the War against the Others, she still had no idea when his nameday was. She had asked him, but he had only scoffed at the idea of celebrating such frivolity. So Sansa set about finding out. She checked in with Sam, the new maester at Winterfell, and he had given her what he could find on the linage of House Clegane.

As it wasn't a royal or noble House, only a House of landed knights, there was very little to be read. The first knight of House Clegane, an unnamed man, presumable Sandor's grandfather, had saved the old Lord Lannister from lions. Other than that, there wasn't much else. No specific dates of births, and some of the names weren't even listed, like that of the sister who died in early childhood. And that was it. The extent of House Clegane. With Gregor now well and truly dead, there was only Sandor and she still didn't know his nameday.

Sansa was not so easily deterred. With a little effort and digging, and with the help of Lady Brienne and her newly betrothed Ser-now Lord-Jaime, she was able to access records directly from Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin, and his father before him, had been excellent record keepers. And it was there, in those records, that Sansa finally had at least a close estimation of his nameday.

She would have to wait another three moons before the estimated date was close. She spent that time preparing his gift, excited despite her knowledge he would likely not be as excited as herself. When the day came, she searched him out after he finished in the training yard. He was sitting off to the side, drinking from a water skin having shed his armor.

"Good day." she greeted him with a smile and her hands behind her back. He eyed her suspiciously for a moment.

"Aye." he nodded. "It's not so bad."

"You will likely be unhappy that I have been digging, but you can always wallow in your anger later. For now, I want you to at least pretend to be not angry."

"What are you going on about, girl?"

"Woman now." she reminded him with a grin. "For sometime now, actually. As you well know. And I must have your word. You will not be angry while in my presence at least."

Sandor eyed her for a moment longer, chewing on something in his mouth. "You have my word, whatever the fuck that's worth. What is it?"

Taking a breath, Sansa brought her hands around and handed him the small package she had wrapped in a cloth. He took it hesitantly, holding it in his dirty hands for a long moment.

"Oh, give it here." she snatched it back and quickly unwrapped the cloth, pulling out what was inside and holding it out to him. "I made this for you."

He took it, slowly, eyes holding hers until he had the fabric in his lap, then he looked down. It was simple, really. Sandor wouldn't have wanted anything else. The cloth was a dark grey in color that had reminded her of his eyes. She had stitched in yellow around the edges, just a straight line, nothing too festive. One corner boasted a larger stitching of the letters SC. In the middle she had taken her time and stitched a black hound. It's head was tilted upwards and a small red bird fluttered just above its snout.

"It's a handkerchief." she supplied when he said nothing for a long time.

"I'm aware of what it is." he said quickly, but not harshly. Still looking at the fabric, he asked, "Why?"

"I found out the approximation of your nameday." she informed him. "It seems unfair that you've gone so long without celebrating it."

"Today isn't my nameday." he finally looked up at her, and then stood. He folded the handkerchief carefully and placed it inside the breast of his doublet. "It's in a week, to be exact."

"Oh." she breathed, then smiled as seductively as she could manage. "I suppose I'll just have to think of another gift to give you on that day."

Sandor chuckled darkly, leaning down so he was close to her ear. "If you are in need of inspiration, I have a few suggestions." He walked away after that, with a wink and a casual smack to her bottom that no one was around to witness.


	41. Go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #41. Go back to sleep.
> 
> Voyeuristic, masturbation smut. Because why the heck not??

The ground was uncomfortable. It was cold, and often times soggy or wet. Every noise of the woods, every snapping of a twig or scuffling of an animal meant danger. Despite how exhausted she was, Sansa had a hard time sleeping. Not that she would complain. She knew well enough to keep her mouth shut. The Hound, Sandor, whatever she should call him, would not like to hear her discomforts. He had, after all, risked a great deal by saving her from Baelish.

It had surprised her, how she had known it was him the second she had seen his massive form despite his back being to her and his face being covered. Though perhaps it shouldn't have. She had dreamt of him often. Prayed for him. Thought of him. One might have even said she pined for him. Regardless, she had accepted without thought when he offered to take her away yet again, for he had known who she was just as quickly despite her name of Stone and her dark hair.

Sansa was grateful to him, so she lay on the cold hard ground with her eyes closed as she feigned sleep. It was something she had gotten proficient at during her stay in the Vale, not wanting to be disturbed by her roommates or by Petyr himself. Sandor's bedroll was a few feet away from hers. She could hear him over there, rustling around, wondering what was wrong. Likely he was just as uncomfortable as she was, but then she heard him suck in a breath through his teeth. Thinking he was perhaps hurt, Sansa's eyes flew open and then her mouth fell open once she focused in on his form.

He lay on his back, his blanket kicked down around his feet. From the light of the full moon, she could easily see that he had his breeches undone and he was stroking himself. Even in his overly large hand it looked impressive. Sansa put her inability to look away or alert him to her attention down to having lived as a bastard for so long. She had put away propriety and modesty. Besides, there was something truly stunning about watching him this way. How his neck arched backwards and his chest heaved, how all his muscles were bunching and flexing. She couldn't see what his second hand was doing, but it was shoved further down into his breeches and Sansa was completely captivated on the motion of the hand she could see. He seemed almost angry about the action, his movements quick and forceful, his grip looked nearly painful it was so tight. He stayed relatively silent. Just breathing heavily. Sansa wondered what he would sound like when he was with a woman. Would he stay as quiet? As stiff? Or would he make noises like Randa had told her men often did?

During her life as a bastard, Sansa had started touching herself. Oddly enough, it was normally to thoughts of the man she was currently watching touch himself. Almost without her minds permission, her hand slipped under her skirts and into her smallclothes. She was already wet from having watched him. Her fingers found that one spot easily and she started rubbing herself at the same pace at which he stroked himself. He finished before her. A deep, rasping grunt, a whispered word that sounded as if might have been her name, hand pumping just the tip of himself as his hips came off the ground a little. Sansa came quickly afterwards, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood to stifle her own noises of climax.

Feeling a little ashamed, she quickly pulled her hand free of her skirts and wiped the wetness off. Sandor sat up and she quickly closed her eyes. There was some more movement as he presumably cleaned himself up. Sansa peeked one eye open and watched him settle himself back down, arms crossed behind his head. He sighed deeply, then his head turned towards her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Sansa flushed deeply when she realized he didn't seem surprised to find her watching him.

"Go back to sleep." he instructed with a smirk, settling back onto his bedroll and closing his eyes.


	42. Is this okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #42. Is this okay?
> 
> A bit smutty

They'd been dancing around it for years. Both of them tried to ignore it. Sandor because there was no way he was going to humiliate himself for some rich little brat that was far too young for him. Sansa because Sandor never gave any indication he would reciprocate her feelings and didn't want to be on the receiving end of his mocking over something like that.

There wasn't really a catalyst that broke the tension. There hadn't been a yelling match that turned passionate. There was no declaration of feelings. Sansa actually couldn't say what it was or how exactly it happened, but somehow she ended up in his bed one evening learning that rough and dirty was actually something she enjoyed greatly. Three times before he'd even got inside of her, to be exact, and twice more once he was.

They slept for a couple hours after that and then Sandor woke her up with his head between her thighs. It was just after midnight when they slumped back onto the mattress, utterly wrecked and sated. Sandor said nothing as he got up from the bed, they hadn't actually done a whole lot of talking since they got to his place, and went to the bathroom. Sansa got up while he was gone and put back on her underwear and after a moments consideration, his t shirt. Instead of laying down, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him, unsure of if she should leave or not.

Sandor came back out a moment later, pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. He eyed her naked legs as he walked around the bed and got in behind her. There was a long moment where nothing happened. Then an arm snatched her around the waist and pulled her down on the mattress. She landed with a giggle, straightening herself up so she was laying next to Sandor. Carefully, she burrowed into his side, resting her head on his shoulder as she wrapped an arm around his waist. He went tense underneath her and she thought maybe she'd misread everything.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, tipping her head to look up at him.

Sandor sighed deeply. "No."

_Well, ouch._

Sansa started to move, but Sandor wrapped his arms around her and rolled them over together until she was on the side he'd been laying on. He easily arranged her with her back to his chest and one heavy leg draped over hers.

"There." he settled in more. "Much better."

Sansa smiled. It really was.


	43. I picked these for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #43. I picked these for you.
> 
> Sappy schmoop.

It was a woman named Brienne of Tarth that had found her in the Vale. Alayne had heard her asking around about Sansa Stark, and Petyr was becoming uncomfortable with her presence. As he had no real reason to send her away without looking suspecious, she stayed, but Petyr made sure to keep Alayne at a distance from her.

Sansa snuck out in the night and found the warrior woman. It took some convincing, but she eventually believed Sansa and they fled that same night with the young squire. They stopped on the Quiet Isle for shelter and rest. That's where Sansa noticed the massive brother, face obscured by his robes. She knew almost immediately who he was and sought him out after dinner. She asked him to accompany them, and he declined at first. When the day came for them to leave, Sansa found Sandor standing with Brienne and Pod. He had no armor here on the Isle, so he wore peasants garb and lacked a sword. It was an odd sight, to be sure, but she was happy that he had decided to come with them.

It became obvious fairly quickly that his limp would cause him trouble on their travels. He never said as much, but every evening after riding when he dismounted Stranger, his limp was even worse until he walked out the kinks. Sansa asked him about it, and he told her how it had come to be. How her sister had left him to die. Sansa was happy to hear that Arya was alive, or at least had been, and couldn't help but wonder at why her sister wouldn't have killed the Hound just to mark him off her list.

Brienne didn't like Sandor. She wasn't very happy that he had come with them, but it wasn't her choice. It was Sansa and Sandor's. Brienne voiced worry that he would slow them down with his limp, but Sansa pointed out he hadn't yet. Besides, a man his size traveling with them might very well scare off potential danger before it became a problem.

They had just stopped for the evening, making camp in an abandoned farming house. Sansa and Brienne left Sandor and Pod in the house to scavenge what they could from the other nearby houses while the men checked the cellar there. Sansa noticed a blackberry tree nearby and picked enough to fill a handkerchief she had with her while Brienne cut salvageable meat from a dead hog. When they got back to the house, Pod and Brienne worked together to start a fire and cook the meat and parsnips Sandor had found in the cellar.

Sansa went and sat at the weathered table near Sandor and handed him the handkerchief. During their travels, Sansa had noticed that Sandor waited until the others had gotten food before he got any himself. She also noticed that Brienne, whether she meant to or not, always gave him a smaller portion than everyone else.

"What's this?" he asked, hesitantly unwrapping the cloth.

"I picked these for you." she informed him with a smile. "Blackberries. Do you like blackberries?"

"Never had them before." he picked one up and investigated it before popping into his mouth and chewed carefully. A bit of juice dribbled out of his lip and he quickly licked it up with the tip of his tongue, causing Sansa to blush brightly and look away.

"Tart." he said after a moment, picking up another. "A little sour." he tossed the berry into his mouth. "I like it."

Sansa smiled, happy to have given him something he enjoyed. Even if it was only something as simple as a berry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have a confession to make. I had planned on doing all 100 ways, but now I'm so excited about extending #13 and I really want to get started on it. As I am horrible about doing two projects at once, I don't want to start on it while still working on this. So I've come to the conclusion that I'm just going to finish posting the 60 ways that I already have done, one a day, and start working on the extension of 13. I do apologize, but hopefully the fic that I come up with for 13 will help ease any upset :)


	44. I'll drive you to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #44. I'll drive you to the hospital.
> 
> Mentions of violence and blood.

It had all been a confusing, terrifying blur of activity. Joffrey in his usual tirade. Some percieved slight that Robb had made on social media and he was intent on taking it out on Sansa, through Trant of course. He could never do it himself.

Sansa had closed her eyes in preperation for the expected blow, but it never came. She opened her eyes as activity exploded, Sandor Clegane throwing Joffrey across the room and into a motionless heap on the floor. Trant had let her hair go, got in a few good blows before Sandor wrestled him to the ground, the sickening sound of his fist impacting Trant's face, wet with blood and spit and the occasional cracking of bone filled the air. Sansa had somehow managed to reach him through his haze of rage. They quickly left the Lannister home and Sandor led her to his beaten up old SUV in the back lot.

They were driving in silence, passing under a street lamp when she noticed his hand. He cradled it in his lap, not holding the wheel with it, and although it was dark she could tell it was swollen and blood was still dripping onto his jeans so it wasn't all Trant's.

"Your hand." she gasped, reaching for it but he jerked it further away from her, then hissed, swerving a little on the road. "Pull over."

"I'm not pulling the fuck over." he snapped.

"Yes, you are." she said just as firmly. "Now, please."

He grumbled under his breath, but pulled over all the same. Sansa dug around in her purse and found her small first aide kit, sadly something she used frequently being with Joffrey. Pulling his hand onto the center console, she turned on the cab light and cleaned off the dried and fresh blood so she could see better. His knuckles were black and blue and swollen up to the point they looked grotesque. He couldn't fully extend his two middle fingers.

"They're broken." she informed him.

"No shit."

"Come on. Switch me seats." she unbuckled. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

He hadn't wanted to, but Sansa was persistent and he eventually caved. The emergency room was an experience and Sandor reminded her of a petulant toddler how he complained and whined at everything. An X-ray and a few pain meds later, he was nearly asleep laying on the gurney as they waited for the doctor to come back and inform them on what they were going to do.

"Thank you." she finally said. "For everything."

It must have been the pain meds talking when he said, "Anything for you, little bird." but she liked it all the same.


	45. What do you want to watch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #45. What do you want to watch? 
> 
> A little humor.

It was pouring outside. The type of rain that made it hard to hear anything else as it created a white noise when it fell on the roof and window. The sort that fell for hours and made it the perfect day to sit inside and do nothing.

Sansa was stretched out across her sofa flipping through channels doing just that when someone knocked on her door. Pulling her robe tighter around herself, she went to the door and opened it to find Sandor scowling in the hall.

"You got power over here?" he asked, looking beyond her and to her still playing TV.

"Do you not?" he lived on the opposite side of the hall and as a result they were on different power sources.

"Nope." he pushed past her, kicking his boots off as he went. Without an invite, he dropped onto her sofa next to the nest of pillows she'd left behind. She thought about complaining, but he at least left the remote alone as he kicked up his feet. Sansa snuggled back into the pillows and picked up her remote and resumed flicking through channels.

"What do you want to watch?" she asked after finding nothing on. Almost the second her words were out, a bolt of lightening flashed and her TV went black. They both sat staring at the blank screen for a long time before Sansa turned to glare at Sandor like he had been the cause of the power outage. He lazily let his head roll on the back of the sofa so he was looking at her as well, but his eyes strayed down her body and a completely lecherous look overtook his features.

"I want to watch you take that robe off so I can see what's underneath." he taunted, meeting her eye again with a lifted brow. Sansa snorted delicately, but stood up from the pillows and walked around the coffee table so she was standing in front of him and he had a full view. He looked completely surprised she was cooperating, but quickly focused on her as he settled further back into the cushions, tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip.

Sansa smiled coyly at him, pulling her own bottom lip into her mouth as she made a show of slowly undoing the robes belt, keeping it pulled tightly across her body before stripping it off with a dramatic flare to reveal...an oversized long sleeved shirt that had a rhino on it and said _'save the chubby unicorns'_ , over a pair of knit leggings.

Very sexy indeed.

Sandor's face fell in disappointment, then he started chuckling, picking up a pillow and throwing it at her. "Nice shirt."

"Thank you." she grabbed her fully charged laptop and sat it on the coffee table. "This should last us a movie. Now, what do you _really_ want to watch?"


	46. You can go first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #46. You can go first.

The ship they took out of Kings Landing in the middle of the night was bound for Braavos. There they would lay low, hide and let the heat die down.

Sansa had never been on a ship before. The constant rocking motion made her violently ill. It was stifling down in the cabin Sandor had procurred for them, but Sandor insisted she not come up during the day so as to keep her hiden from others that might send word back to Kings Landing she had been spotted. By the time they reached Braavos she had lost weight and had never felt more disgusting in her life. Sandor covered her in his cloak, making certain to hide her hair carefully, and checked them in to the first inn they came across. The elderly man that owned the place had mistaken Sansa for Sandor's wife, as Sandor was all but carrying her weakened body. Sandor didn't correct him and they were given a single room. It was safer that way, he told her. He would be able to protect her better and it would look less suspicious a man and wife traveling than an unwed couple.

He ordered dinner and a bath to be sent up and Sansa was laying on the foot of the straw bed as it was delivered. Sandor gave the young boys that hauled the water a copper each, and then sent them off. Sansa couldn't help staring longingly at the steam rising from the wooden tub. Sandor would likely use it first. He hadn't bathed in as long as herself, if not longer, and so far he had taken charge of everything.

"You can go first." he motioned towards the tub. "And before you start, I'm not leaving. You can damn well get used to me being here and shove your propriety right out the fucking window. Now, get in. Before it's too cold."

Sansa didn't argue as she pulled herself up from the bed, too tired and weak to complain. Besides, he did turn his back and give her a semblance of privacy until she sank into the water. He kept himself busy unpacking their bags as she scrubbed her hair and skin. He didn't speak to her as he picked up the length of cloth meant to dry with and he didn't avert his gaze as she stood and let him wrap it around her body. She didn't dispute when he assisted her into one of her clean night shifts, and she didn't deny him once he'd bathed and picked up the hair comb. She sat on the small wooden chair and let him brush out her hair, wondering at the gentleness he seemed so capable of. She wondered if he would be that gentle when they went to bed together. There was no doubt of what would happen once they did. Shamefully enough, she was even excited for it in a nervous sort of way.

The years had shown her life was not a song. There were no true knights or dashing princes that would give her sweet, chaste kisses. Sansa no longer wanted them anyway. She knew what they hid. What she did have was a terrifying man that frightened and mocked her, but he also protected her and saved her. He was kind, in his own way. Sandor had only ever known the harshness of the world, while Sansa had only ever known the sweetness of it. And while he might have pushed that harshness on her, showed her the reality of the world, mayhaps she was giving him some of the sweetness of it in return.


	47. Did you get my letter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #47. Did you get my letter?

It was four moons into the heavy fighting at the Wall when Sansa first felt the child quicken. She had suspected before, her moons blood failing to come, but couldn't be certain until that moment. It frightened her and filled her with hope. It wasn't the best of times to be bringing a child into the world. Winter had come, and with it monsters Sansa hadn't known to fear.

They had only been wed a fortnight when Sandor left her, following her bastard brother and any other able bodied man, and some women, to the Wall to fight the Others. They had lain with each other as husband and wife every night, and sometimes during the day, until he left. But Sandor had never finished inside her, save for the first night when he'd found completion so quickly he'd been embarrassed and angry. Sansa had soothed his anger, and then he had soothed her ache.

Mayhaps he would be angry when he came back and there was a child. She hoped not, and decided it would be best to send a raven with news closer to time so he wouldn't be so surprised when he came home. Sansa never received a letter back. It terrified her. Was he that angry? Or maybe he was injured, or Gods forbid, dead? She kept herself busy so as not to think about it and soon there was a child, a large, healthy little girl with black curly hair and Tully blue eyes. Sansa wrote another letter after her birth, informing Sandor of her arrival and letting him know they were both sound and healthy. Again, she received no letter back. But she also never received a letter from Jon or Arya or Brienne telling her that her husband was dead.

Leanor was just past her first nameday when her father returned. Sansa stood with Rickon and the house guard as they welcomed the men of Winterfell back, including Arya and Sandor. Sansa nearly lost all sense of propriety when she first saw him ride in. She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms and legs around him and kiss him until she couldn't breathe. From the hungry way his eyes feasted on her as he dismounted and strode towards her, Sansa thought maybe he felt the same way. He was but two strides away when his eyes skimmed down the length of her body and he halted abruptly in his steps, eyes widening and body going tense. Sansa looked down to see Leanor hanging onto her skirts, blue eyes wide as they stared back at Sandor unblinking.

"Did you get my letter?" Sansa asked gently, pulling Sandor's attention back to her for a brief moment.

"No." he rasped, eyes flicking back to the little girl. "Is...is that mine?" Sansa smiled, running her fingers over Leanor's soft curls.

"She is." Sansa knelt down and faced her daughter, taking both her little hands in hers to help steady the toddler on her wobbly legs. "Leanor, this is your father. Can you wave hello?"

Leanor looked back at a still frozen Sandor, one chubby little hand raising to open and close her fingers in a wave. Sandor absently lifted a single hand to wave back. Smiling again, Sansa scooped Leanor up and closed the distance between them.

"I did write you." she informed him softly. "I wrote to tell you when I had quickened. And again when she was born. I wrote you so many times."

"Ravens were lost. It was a confusing cluster fuck over there." he winced a little at his language, looking at the little girl. "Leanor?"

"After your sister." Sansa nodded. "I...I hope that is alright. If it doesn't please you, we could possibly..."

"It's alright." he said quickly, cutting her off. "It's...good."

"Would you like to hold her?" Sansa offered.

"No." he said quickly. "I'm fucking filthy. And I don't know how. I'd likely hurt the child."

"She is _your_ child." Sansa countered. "You can wait, that is acceptable. I know you must be exhausted and in need of both food and a bath. But after, you will hold her. I will not have our child ignored by her father. Is that understood?"

Sandor's eyes flashed, then a grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. Sansa flushed as she remembered one night when he told her it made his blood hot when she turned haughty and commanding.

"Aye." he agreed, holding out a hand towards Leanor, who latched quickly onto his finger, a wide, double toothed smile gracing her chubby cheeks. "It's understood."


	48. I'll do it for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #48. I'll do it for you.
> 
> Just a bit of angst and comfort. 
> 
> Also, this could be considered a continuation of #1 if you wanted it to be :)

She was crying, and Sandor found himself conflicted with urges to both leave the discomfort of being the only other one there, and go to her and try to comfort her. Only, he hadn't a clue as to _how_ to comfort her.

Sansa sat down on the edge of the crappy motel bed, shaky fingers jerking uselessly at the hair tie at the bottom of her braid. All she succeeded in was pulling her own hair time and again, mounting her frustration and tugging harder. Sandor watched for a moment, wondering if she'd rip her hair out before she gave up. Finally deciding he couldn't watch any longer, he was fairly partial to her hair, he came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder to stall her movements.

"I'll do it for you." he kept his voice low, not wanting to sound mocking or taunting for once.

With a heaved sigh, Sansa let her hands fall into her lap and Sandor quickly worked the tie out of her tangled hair and then worked the braid free. Unable to help himself, he dug his fingers into her scalp and started working the knots free from her hair. Sansa shuddered a breath, but didn't ask him to stop. Eventually she relaxed back into his touch. He thought briefly to stop and get an actual brush, but he enjoyed the feel of the heat and silk of her hair between his fingers, catching on his callouses.

Somehow, the hair brushing turned into him rubbing her neck, and then her shoulders. A while later, he ended up on his knees over her thighs as he continued rubbing her whole back. She fell asleep while he did, so Sandor kicked his boots off and ignored the second bed, opting to instead lay down next to her and try not to think about after they made it to Winterfell, when she would no longer need him.


	49. Call me when you get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #49. Call me when you get home.
> 
> Angst and smut.

_"No one can know."_

_"Don't tell anyone."_

_"Let's keep it casual."_

These were all Sansa's pleas to him. It was her idea, her insistence, that their relationship be a secret. It was selfish and shallow and rude, but Sandor hadn't ever put up an argument. And their 'relationship' wasn't much of a relationship. It didn't involve romance or dating or all the things that couples did together. It involved Sansa going over to his flat once or twice a week and them shagging each other within an inch of their lives, and then her leaving.

Sandor never asked her to stay. He never asked to come over. He never called to see if she wanted to hang out. Sansa was in control of their interactions, and at first she was fine with the conditions.

Until she wasn't.

It felt dirty and wrong. She found herself wondering what he did when she wasn't there. Did he have other girls that he saw like this? Was he out dating on the nights she didn't come over? Was he happy with this? Did he want more? Did he even _like_ her? Sansa never asked any of those questions. She secretly hoped one day he would tell her he didn't want this anymore. That he wanted more. It was silly, she realized. Why couldn't she be the one to say something? But still, she was waiting for some sign from him that he would want her to. And so far, she'd gotten nothing.

Oh, he pleased her. Several times a night. He had this ability to turn her completely inside out with pleasure, enough to make her forget everything but him. He touched her firmly, not afraid of breaking her. Other times he was so damn gentle, like she was made of something precious, that it caused her chest to ache.

Tonight had been a combination of the two. His flat was a wreck from their foreplay of him chasing her about, throwing her over whatever piece of furniture happened to be there so he could touch and lick and bite. By the time he tossed her over his shoulder she'd come twice already, her skin red and marked from his teeth and fingers and beard. Once there, he slowed things down, touched her softly, moved within her slowly, brought her to completion again with his eyes locked on hers as they shared each others breaths.

Afterwards he stayed in bed, the crumpled sheet tossed haphazardly over his lap as she got up and redressed. Inwardly she was begging him to say something, to stop her or to ask her out for dinner or lunch or even a damn coffee.

Nothing.

Pulling on her shoes, Sansa picked up her purse by the front door and carefully kept her back to him so he didn't see her mask slipping. Her hand was on the door when he spoke.

"Sansa?"

She stalled, looking over her shoulder at him sitting on the edge of the bed now. He opened his mouth, closed it, sighed and tried again.

"Call me when you get home." Sansa smiled. He'd never asked her to do that before. Never seemed to care if she made it home or not once she left. It wasn't quite what she had been hoping for, but it was at least something. It was a change. Hopefully in the direction she wanted.


	50. I think you're beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #50. I think you're beautiful.

Compliments were something bestowed upon Sansa from a very young age. She was complimented for her beauty, for her grace, for her poise, for her manners. Everything her Lady Mother had taught her, she was praised for. And she ate it up. Sansa could now admit to being spoiled and entitled and not just a little prideful. It became evident very quickly once she reached Kings Landing that all her beauty and manners would get her nowhere. It would not save her from imprisonment. It would not save her from Joffrey.

Because of this, Sansa began to see past physical appearances. Beauty hid vile things.

Sansa was out at the training yard, at Margaery's insistence, and Sansa was struggling to keep up her façade of being interested in watching the Knight of Flowers spar with another comely young knight. Her eyes, however, kept being drawn to her left, where Sandor Clegane stood quietly, watching over the future Queen and Joffrey's political prisoner even though he had been stripped of his white cloak after the Battle of the Blackwater. Margaery had left her to preen near Joffrey, who would not spar but was out in full armor, leaving Sansa alone aside from her stoic guard.

"Lady Sansa." Ser Loras paused at where she was standing and offered her a dazzling smile. "You look very beautiful today." Sansa felt her lip curl in distaste, but quickly formed it into a smile.

"Thank you, Ser." she curtsied to him and he left her with another smile. She couldn't help but sigh heavily as he left.

"What's the matter?" The Hound questioned with a sneer. "The Flowery Knights compliments not nice enough for you?"

"Compliments?" she scoffed slightly. "Like I have achieved a great thing merely by being born comely. I'd rather be complimented for something of my own doing."

He looked mildly surprised by that, his single brow lifting. "Most care little about anything else than beauty. Songs are not written about the ugly."

"They are if they are brave and strong." she countered. "Just so long as they are a man and not a woman."

The Hound huffed a laugh. "You would rather be ugly and, what?, witty and smart than beautiful?"

"I was unaware that beauty negated brains, Ser."

"Not a fucking Ser." he growled. "And from what I've seen, yes. Beauty rarely comes with brains."

Sansa turned away, insulted at the implication he found her stupid. But she knew he found her stupid. He had told her many times before. Perhaps he was right.

"Don't sulk, girl." he laughed harshly. "I said rarely. You've proven you have some good intelligence in that head of yours. You were smart enough to say no to a drunken, ugly brute like me during the Blackwater."

Surprised, Sansa turned back to look at him, then looked around quickly to make sure no one was listening in on them. They hadn't so much as referenced that night until now. And had the Hound really just complimented her intelligence?

"You aren't ugly." she said softly. He snorted and gave her a look that said he thought she was insane. "Beauty can come in other ways than outwardly. I think you are beautiful. In...in other ways."

Sandor's brow scrunched in concentration, expression unreadable as he stared down at her.

"Bravery can come in other ways than wielding steel." he finally said, then looked past her. "Come on, now. The King is heading back to the castle."


	51. Are you sure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #51. Are you sure?
> 
> Angst and smut.

Sandor was a very young boy when his world changed. Life had never been easy. His father was a drunk and gone most of the time. When he was home, he beat the ever living shit out of anyone who got in his way until Gregor and then Sandor became too big. His mother never lifted a finger against any of it, not that Sandor could blame her, but she more often than not put her children in harms way to protect herself. Even his little sister, who never was big enough to defend herself.

It was obvious from almost the beginning there was something wrong with Gregor. He never could grasp his numbers or letters, always fought against headaches so bad he would go into fits of rage. The night he burnt Sandor's face he had been suffering from a bad one and Sandor should have known to stay out of his way, but he was just a little boy that wanted to play with a toy. Shortly after that, when their father was gone, Sandor had gone into town to pick up some meat. When he returned home, both his mother and sister were gone. Gregor pretended he knew nothing and a few days later their broken bodies were found in an abandoned barn. It was assumed some passerby had kidnapped them, raped them, and then killed them.

Sandor knew better.

He was little more than two and ten when Gregor and his father went hunting and only his brother came back. Sandor knew he was in danger, so he left for Casterly Rock and never looked back. He fought for the Lannister's during Roberts Rebellion even though he wasn't old enough and had fought for them ever since, never once questioning his loyalty. The Lannister's had given him sanctuary after all. They had given him a chance to be something else, not necessarily better but at least alive.

Then one day a pretty little bird came and he was forced to see the innocence he had once had, the innocence his little sister had. And it was hard to witness when that innocence was shattered just as his had been. He knew what she needed. She needed to learn that life was not a song and to act accordingly. She needed to grow a spine of steel and feathers of armor to protect herself in this place, from her betrothed. So he helped her in ways that wouldn't put himself at too much risk.

Until one night she came to him, after he was too far into his cups and she shouldn't have known where his personal quarters were. She had removed her cloak and dress with matter of fact movements, but he still saw her hands shaking. He had sat, tongue too dry and thick in his mouth to talk, and watched as she came to him, naked as her namesday, and asked him to take what little innocence she had remaining. The one part of her innocence she didn't want Joffrey to have.

He should have told her no. It was treason. It was stupid. It was both their heads.

Instead, he unlaced his breeches with hurried movements and helped her onto his lap, positioning his cock where it should be without pressing in just yet and rubbing around her not quite wet enough folds with his fingers as he watched her face. Finally, when his fingers were slick enough, he lined her up just right, but held her hips off of him.

"Are you sure?" he demanded. He didn't want to be like his father. Like Gregor. He'd tried his entire life to avoid that, going so far as to refuse knighthood. Sandor Clegane was many things, most horrible, but he was not a rapist.

"Yes." she had whispered, little hands coming up to cup both sides of his face. "Please, Sandor."

And so he had. She had cried and so had he, although he hid his in her shoulder as he thrust up into her. She kept petting his neck and hair, whispering 'thank you' over and over again in his ruined ear.

He had just enough presence of mind to pull himself from her body before he spilled. And still, with his seed and her maidens blood wetting her thighs and his, making both of them a sticky mess, she continued to touch him and kiss his face. Still whispering 'thank you' the entire time.


	52. Have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #52. Have fun.

It was all painfully cliché, being left at the alter. Although, Sansa supposed she had technically left Harry at the alter. He'd been there, only she'd caught him shagging one of the wait staff bent over a table in a back room. In his tux. The tux he was supposed to wear to marry her. The fact that Sansa hadn't been all that surprised, or upset, was a giant indication that it was a good thing they hadn't gone through with the wedding.

Truthfully, she'd just gotten caught up in the idea more than the reality. It was embarrassing, though. Horribly so. Luckily Arya and Robb took over for her and sent everyone home without her having to see anyone. Sandor Clegane, the families long time driver, met her around the back with a car and got her out before anyone saw her. When Harry had chased her outside, begging for her to understand, that it didn't mean anything, that he _loved_ her, Sansa had spun around on her heel and slapped him so hard he stumbled to the side. Oh, it felt good. When she'd turned back to the car, Sandor had been smirking at her, then offered her a low high five as he held the back door open for her.

As a gift to herself, and to get away from all the countless phone calls and condolences that were sure to come, Sansa decided to go ahead and go to the Summer Isles for the honeymoon she was supposed to have taken with Harry. Sandor helped load her things and drove her to the airport. During the drive, Sansa couldn't help staring at him in the rearview. He had been the only one that had openly told her what a bad idea marrying Harry was. He blatantly hated the other man and made no qualms about showing it. When Sansa had announced she was marrying him, there had been a brief moment where Sandor had actually looked hurt. Crushed, actually, but it passed just as quickly. After that, he treated her with a cold mockery of the courtesy she'd always given everyone. He hadn't actually met her eye or acknowledged her existence until she'd come out of the wedding venue.

It could have been the hurt of Sandor's coldness toward her that had driven her to look for Harry before the wedding, to tell him she couldn't do this. Not when she had spent the last few weeks realizing it was someone else entirely she wanted. A week in the Summer Isles would be good. It would give her time to gather her thoughts and feelings and get away from everything.

At the airport, Sandor unloaded her things for her and Sansa hesitated at the curb.

"Thank you." she managed to say. He eyed her for a moment, those grey eyes swirling with a riot of things. His hand that had been holding the handle of her rolling suitcase slipped off the handle and wrapped around her wrist for just a second, fingers tightening just a little. A shockwave went through her body at the small contact. 

"Have fun." he finally said, releasing her to turn back to the car.

"Wait!" Sansa yelled at him, heart beating wildly. He paused, turning to look back at her with his brow lifted. "I have another plane ticket." she informed him with a smile. "And the all inclusive stay at the resort is for two. If...if you'd want to come with me." He looked surprised, then frowned.

"I don't have anything with me. And the fucking the car." he motioned back towards it.

"Pay for valet." she shrugged. "We'll buy you swim trunks when we get there. That's all you'll need. I plan on being in a swimsuit or naked the entire time."

Sansa laughed at how quickly Sandor shoved the keys and a wad of bills in the valets hand before snatching her own and pulling her towards their terminal.

Maybe this honeymoon would be even better than she'd planned.


	53. Sit down, I'll get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #53. Sit down, I'll get it.
> 
> A bit gory.

Blood was pouring perfusely from the wound on the inside of his bicep, where the blade had nearly gone clear through. More trailed down over his eyebrow and into his eye, making the good side of his face nearly as unrecognizable as his burnt side. Sansa swallowed past a wave of nausea. She had only ever seen so much blood one other time, when her father had lost his head. This was different somehow. When her father had been killed, she had been screaming and frantic, her vision blurred with tears and panic. She had been taken away quickly. Here, in this frozen wasteland while men and women fought a battle against things that weren't quite dead yet, there was nowhere for her to be taken away to. No one to take her away. Here, at Castle Black, Sansa did what she could to aide in the war effort against the Others. As she was not made for battle, and would likely get herself as well as others killed if she tried to fight, she helped with the wounded and the dead.

She looked around frantically as she helped his massive body to sit at a bench in what was once the great hall and was now the infirmary. All the maesters were busy with others, the other women that were helping to nurse tending to their own patients.

"Wine." he demanded as he sat heavily on the bench, leaning back so the table behind him took the brunt of his weight.

"All the wine is being used for cleaning wounds." she said evenly, taking the sleeve of his tunic in her hands and ripping it off so she could access his arm easier. "There is none to spare for drinking."

He complained loudly about the lack of his preferred drink, but Sansa ignored him as she mopped up the blood pouring from his arm. The wound was deep. Too deep. The blade had severed a vessel in his arm. It would need stitched back together before she could sew his wound closed. She called for a maester, then used her status as Queen in the North and cousin of the Prince That Was Promised to have one torn away from a man with a flesh wound.

Sansa was instructed to hold him down while the maester worked, as it would hurt as he dug inside the wound to find the vessel. It was a rather silly suggestion, as he was three times her size. She eventually ended up kneeling with her knees on his thighs to hold him still, her upper body pushing into his shoulders as she held the leather wrapped wooden spoon into his mouth as he tensed and howled in pain, but he was able to keep relatively still as the maester worked. He passed out before the maester was done. It took five of them to move him to one of the cots set up and Sansa was left to stitch his arm closed and clean his head wound. She had just finished bandaging up his arm and was spreading a poultice into the gash on his head when his eyes opened once again. He tried to sit up, but Sansa easily pushed him back down.

"Settle." she said gently. "You've lost quite a bit of blood. You need to rest." He stared up at her, the wild liveliness in his eyes dulled somewhat, his face pale now that it was cleaned of the blood.

"My sword." he demanded lowly, his voice hoarse. "I need my sword." he tried once more to stand, but only made it into a sitting position before he swayed and gripped the side of the cot tightly.

Sansa wanted to berate him for such silliness at a time like this. He was hurt. He'd almost been killed! The maester had talked of him possibly losing the ability to fully use his arm. And he cared about his sword? But beneath his harshness, she saw something else. Vulnerability. Worry. Possibly even fear. He was scared, as they all were. The enemies he fought now were unlike any he'd ever fought before. And Sandor Clegane was a man of action and deed. He wanted his sword with him because he was a warrior, a fighter. He didn't want that taken away from him now, when he was likely feeling weak.

"Sit down." Sansa put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'll get it."

Leaving him for the moment, she went to where he'd been stripped of his armor near the door and found his sword, still cold to the touch and covered in blood. It was heavy and long enough that the pommel came to her breast with the blade point on the floor. Hefting it carefully, she carried it back to where Sandor was and laid it across is lap. His hand curled around the pommel, where hers still was, his eyes holding hers.

There was so much to say. So much that both of them had been ignoring now for so very long. But now wasn't the time or the place. There was so much else to do.

Sansa pulled her hand free from under his and produced a small flask from the pockets of her dirty skirts and handed it to him.

"If they ask how you've come to have it, it wasn't from me." she said with a smile. Sandor took the wine with his free hand and gave her a nod. They would talk later. After the battles. He need to focus on the fighting and she needed to focus on the healing of the injured. Later, they would focus on each other.


	54. I made reservations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #54. I made reservations. 
> 
> Smut and romance (as romantic as Sandor Clegane can be) to help ease the tensions from late last night and this morning.

Marriage had always been a laughable notion. Not something for the likes of Sandor Clegane, that was certain. Weddings, love, manogomy, forever. Nope. Not his style.

And then he met Sansa Stark and all his preconcieved notions of himself flew out the fucking window as she batted her lashes at him and gave him that sweet smile. So he found a way to accomodate her sweetness into his life. He made a spot for her so she could show him the softness of the world he'd forgotten and he could teach her all the naughty things she wanted.

Now, that wasn't to say he'd become some bloody romantic. He was still harsh and brash and more often than not a complete ass, just not so much to her. He still didn't understand all her subtleties and he probably fucked up more than most boyfriends did. It was true he didn't compliment her as much as she probably wanted, or deserved, but honeyed words weren't something he did well.

So the big question was, how in the fuck did a man like him propose to a woman like her?

It was a fair assumption to say Sansa had more than likely thought of her proposal ever since she realized what marriage was. She'd probably imagined flowers and romantic gestures and public displays and a rock that could sink a ship.

Sandor couldn't afford much, but he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time looking for the right one until he finally found the thin Edwardian style ring with a tiny diamond bracketed by sapphires that had reminded him of her eyes. There were no flowers as he couldn't justify how much they cost when they'd die so quickly. And as far as romantic gestures, he was at a loss. There was a reservation at her favorite restaurant, if that counted. Which he thought it most assuredly did. And that was public, right?

All of his plans for the evening went to shit the second Sandor got home. In his preoccupation of planning the evening, he'd forgotten to tell Sansa they had a date. Instead, he came home to her already cooking dinner, chirping mindlessly about her day at work as he just stared at her. But, damn, she was gorgeous. She'd changed after she'd gotten home and now wore those tiny little cotton shorts she preferred to wear around the house, claiming comfort when Sandor suspected it was to drive him wild. She had braided her hair this morning, but now it was down and crimped from it's previous bindings. When she turned from the chopping board where she was working, he noticed with her thin tank top that she wasn't wearing a bra.

All at once, he forgot about dinner or dates or blown plans and proposals. He was caught off guard, even after all this time, by her beauty and her blatant desire for him as he strode across the space between them and picked her up. Sansa matched his heat, her hands nearly as eager as his as they stripped each other of their clothing. In his haste to have her, Sandor knocked the cutting board and the vegetables onto the floor and nearly took off his finger with the knife as he swiped the counter clear before depositing her onto it.

It was rough and wonderful and after she came the first time, Sandor forced himself to slow down and fully enjoy her. Her mouth, her breasts, her skin, her smell. Just the feel of her. Sansa came again just as he knees were threatening to give out and he followed her with a roar, slumping down onto the tile floor and bringing her with him so he didn't have to leave the heat of her body just yet.

"Mm." she hummed, raising herself up to kiss him. "Well, hello to you, too." she grinned.

"Best fucking hello in the world." he agreed, kissing her back.

"We should do that every time you come home." she sighed, then lay her head on his shoulder.

Well, no time like the present.

Reaching over, he snagged his jeans and dug into the pocket to pull out the little box that was inside.

"Here." he handed it to her. "We can do it for the rest of our lives, if you say yes."

Sansa went stiff, then took the box and sat up. Sandor was distracted by her naked breasts as she opened the box.

"Are you asking me to marry you, Sandor Clegane?" she asked, bringing his attention back to her face.

"Aye." he nodded. "Sorry about the lack of romance."

"I don't want romance, Sandor." she bent to kiss him. "I just want you."

"Is that a yes?" She smiled at him and his heart flipped over.

"Yes." He took the box from her and slipped the ring on her finger, kissing her knuckle after he'd done so.

"I made reservations." he informed her. "And seeing as we made a mess of your dinner, we can still make them." he glanced at his watch. "If you can get ready in half an hour."

Sansa laughed, raking her fingers through his hair before kissing him until he was hard once more inside of her.

"Forget the reservations." she whispered huskily as she started to move once again. "We can call out for pizza later."

Sandor grunted his acceptance of that, realizing once again what a lucky fucking bastard he was.


	55. I don't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #55. I don't mind.
> 
> Smutty goodness

Never in his close to thirty years of living did Sandor think he'd find himself here. When he first met her, all those years ago behind the cold metal of his Hounds helm while she twittered and preened for the boy cunt, he'd been annoyed with her like all highborn ladies. Oh, he admired her beauty, to be sure. He wasn't blind and he damn sure wasn't knightly enough to look away.

The first time he'd gone to the brothel once they arrived back in Kings Landing he'd gotten a redheaded whore. Her hair wasn't quite right, though. Not red enough, or soft enough, and her way of speaking was all wrong. Not that it mattered at all when he was buried inside of her, slaking a lust for a girl he shouldn't think about touching.

Sansa became something of an obsession during her stay in Kings Landing. Lust, yes; desire, certainly, but there was something else. A discomfort and churning in his gut whenever she was harmed. An impulse to protect her even as he couldn't force himself to risk his own neck. His visits to the brothel never slowed down. He still had the need to rut like any other man, but he stopped seeking out redheads. Instead, he would look for the girl who looked most opposite the little bird in some self delusion he wouldn't think of her.

He always thought of her.

But now, years later and the war, both for the throne and against the Long Night, were over Sandor found himself actually with her. Not some lookalike or failed attempt at something opposite. It was Sansa Stark he had stripped down to her bare skin, his face buried between her legs as she bit her lip in an attempt to hold her moans inside. Once she finally gave it up, he crawled up her body and brought her off again with his fingers.

"Please, Sandor, I need a moment." she panted, pushing weakly at his arm to remove his hand from her cunt. It was amusing that she was polite even in bed.

Dropping onto the bed beside her, he stared up at the rafters and willed his cock to stop throbbing so. It didn't help when Sansa lifted her naked body and crawled up to straddle his thighs, small hands wrapping around his cock like he'd taught her he liked best.

"I am sorry I cannot take you inside of me." she whispered, cheeks flushed and eyes downcast in something close to shame. Sandor snorted. She had said the same thing, or something close to it, every time they were like this together. When he agreed to marry her four moons ago, she had informed him she wanted to wait until their wedding night to be properly bedded, but was open to other sorts of bed play until then, so long as her maidenhead remain intact.

"Not going to lie, little bird, I want inside your cunt so bad I can hardly think of anything else." Sansa huffed, turning a shade redder, and smacked his chest. Sandor chuckled and grasped her wrist, holding her hand to his chest. "But I'm not complaining. I've got you, naked and wet, hands wrapped around my cock and getting more comfortable with bed play. Another two moons, and I'll be so deep inside of you neither of us will walk properly for a week."

"Sandor." she admonished lightly, leaning down to peck a kiss to his lips. He caught her hair and held her lips to his.

"I don't mind." he said earnestly. He was willing to wait, and it honestly didn't bother him. Not when he had the rest of his life to make up for lost time.


	56. It brings out your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #56. It brings out your eyes.

Who the fuck knew that there would be so many different shades of grey? Wasn't there just grey? Maybe dark grey or light grey, but seriously? Charcoal, slate, smoke, heather, steel. It was enough to give him a damn headache, especially since he wanted to be anywhere but here. In a goddamn dressing room while Sansa passed him the tenth shirt to try on, this one just a shade lighter than the last one.

Where in the ever loving fuck did his masculinity go? Gods, he was an embarrassment to himself.

"Is it on?" Sansa asked sweetly from the other side of the curtain and Sandor jerked it open as he finished the last two buttons.

"How is this any different from the last five I've tried on?"

"It's a lighter color and a more rich fabric." she smoothed her hands down the planes of his chest and he decided it wasn't all that bad, not if he got to have her hands on him. Straightening his collar, she looked up at him and gave him a smile.

"I think I like this one."

"It's a fucking shirt." he complained. "They've all been fucking shirts. What's the difference?"

Sansa sighed in disappointment. "This is an important interview, Sandor. You need to look your best."

Sandor scoffed at the idea of how horrible his 'best' would still be.

"Why grey, though?" he turned to look at himself in the three way mirror and had to admit the shirt did fit him better than any of the others he owned. Sansa stepped up beside him and met his gaze in the mirror.

"It brings out your eyes." she said softly and Sandor flinched a little.

"My eyes?" he questioned. All his life people had been commenting on his eyes, how wild and crazed they looked. Bronn once told him they made him look unhinged with the rawness of his simmering anger.

"Yes." she nodded. "Your eyes. They're a lovely shade of grey and when you're happy they remind me of warm pewter."

Happy. The idea was almost laughable, but Sandor supposed it was probably true. He'd only ever felt a semblance of it when he was with her, and the shirt would likely just draw attention to his brute nature because he damn sure wasn't going to be happy at a fucking interview. But he'd get the damn shirt anyway. If only to see that happy little spark in Sansa's own eye.


	57. There's enough room for both of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #57. There's enough room for both of us.

They'd been on the run for several days now and Sandor finally agreed to stop for the night to allow both of them to rest. Sansa was looking forward to an actual bed and a shower. They stopped at a dollar store and Sandor made her lock the truck doors as he went inside to get some 'supplies', whatever that was. She didn't ask, nor did she really care. She was just tired.

When the got to the shady looking motel, Sansa hardly even cared that the room smelled like cigarette smoke and that there was only one bed. Sandor sat her down at the cracked vanity and pulled out the things he'd gotten at the store. A pair of scissors and a box of black hair dye. Sansa cut her own hair, taking it from waist length to just above her shoulders and Sandor worked the dye into her hair. After it set long enough, she stepped into the shower to rinse it out, watching the water around her feet turn inky with a detached sort of interest. Once she was done, she got out and dried off. Her hair hadn't turned completely black from the dye, but it was now a brownish auburn color. Pulling on her pajamas while Sandor showered, she sat on the end of the bed and waited for him to come out. When he did, wearing basketball shorts and nothing else, Sansa thought about pulling out all of his long hair.

"Why did I have to cut and dye my hair, but not you?" she questioned.

"These make changing my appearance difficult." he motioned to the scars on the side of his face and Sansa felt a little bad. He was right, after all. If he were to cut his hair it would make the scars more prominent and the news reports had been talking a lot about his scaring.

Crawling back up onto the pillows, Sansa pulled the itchy blankets up to her waist and watched as Sandor pulled a chair up to the opposite side of the bed and sat down, propping his feet on the mattress with his arms crossed over his chest.

"There is enough room for both of us." she pointed out, causing Sandor's eyes to pop open. He seemed to deliberate for a moment, then got up from the chair and grabbed his gun from the table next to him and put in on the nightstand before getting under the covers with her.

The bed wasn't all that big. A full sized one with a crappy mattress that sagged towards the middle, causing them to roll towards each other. Sansa turned on her side to accommodate his size, her back to him, and a moment later Sandor turned the same way so they would fit more comfortably. He didn't put his arm around her, she could feel it folded up against his chest and pressing into her back, but his warmth and presence made her feel safe and sleepy.

"You aren't planning on cutting my hair in my sleep are you?" he mumbled after a moment, breath stirring the hair at the crown of her head.

Sansa smiled with her eyes closed. "You don't sleep hard enough."

"I like your hair red." he said in a low tone of voice and Sansa felt his fingers skim over the shortened hair at her neck. "I like it long. But you could shave your head and still be fucking gorgeous."

"Thank you." Sansa whispered, cheeks heating. He snorted, then his arm came around her waist, big hand flattening on her belly.

"And so damned sweet. That'll get you hurt one day, little bird."

Sansa sighed and covered his hand with hers. "Not when I have you here to protect me."


	58. You don't have to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #58. You don't have to say anything.
> 
> angsty.

He should have known better. It seemed his entire life was made up of instances where he should have known better, done better. Been better. None had bothered him entirely too much. Not like this. Not like sitting in an abandoned and burnt out old farm house while he watched her waste away.

Taking Sansa Stark from Kings Landing, away from Joffrey and Cersei and the whole twisted lot of them hadn't been a mistake. His mistake lay in his lack of planning, his lack of forethought. They had no provisions, no clothing suitable for the cold Northern weather, and very little coin. The elements weren't quite as hard on Sandor as they were on the little bird. He was so much bigger than her, was used to a life without luxury, so it was only reasonable that he could hold up to the elements so much better than her. His body generated more heat.

Sansa had taken to coughing two days past. The fever had crept up late yesterday evening. As they shared a mount, Sandor could feel the rise in her temperature where she lay back against him weakly. He found the farmhouse shortly after and they'd been there since. With fair knowledge of tending to sickness, as most soldiers were, he tended her as best he knew how. Stripping her of her now ragged clothing, he lay her close to the fire and wrapped his much bigger body around hers, leaving only his breeches on so that he might break her fever. It was sometime late in the night when her body began to shiver and a cold sweat slickened her back and his chest. He quickly cleansed her with a rag, then put her clothing back on and took back up his position behind her.

She never woke up fully. Never spoke. She coughed and she wheezed and her chest rattled where his hand was pressed just below her breast. Filling an old rusted pot with snow, he sat it on the fire, hoping the steam from it would ease her troubled breathing. They carried this on for two more days. Sandor stripping her and warming her in turn as the fever came and went, adding more snow as needed and spooning broth that he'd made from some found turnips and potatoes and a hog bone into her mouth. By turns he begged her and then raged at her. He whispered soothing words he didn't know he knew one second, then savagely shook her and yelled in her face to open her damn eyes.

On the third day when he came back from gathering snow her eyes were open. She was pale skinned, more so than normal, her cheeks gaunt and her eyes seemingly far too large in her face and surrounded by dark circles. But she was awake. Dropping the snow, he went to his knees beside her and jerked his glove off before laying the back of his hand to her forehead, heaving a sigh when it was cool.

"You're awake." he said pointlessly. "I didn't know if you'd wake up or not. I..." all his words from the past few days came back to him and he felt himself flushing, both with embarrassment and with anger that he'd ever been so weak as to say such drivel. That he had yelled at her so.

"Hush." she licked cracked lips and lifted one small hand to touch his bare hand. "I am sorry to have caused you worry."

"Fuck your apology." he flipped his hand and gave hers a squeeze. "You don't have to say anything. I'm...it's good that you are alive."

"Yes." she agreed with a small smile, her fingers threading into his. "It is good."


	59. Wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #59. Wow.
> 
> Sandor's POV and continuation of #49.

Laying on his back in his bed, Sandor watched as Sansa moved around his flat like she had countless times before. He wanted to ask her to stay, but she had put the stipulations on their relationship. After watching how things had gone with Joffrey and then Harry, neither of which she had a whole lot of say in, Sandor decided she would be in control of things with them. He wouldn't push anything on her. It would all be her decision.

It hurt like hell that this is all she wanted. Sandor understood, of course. It wasn't like he was a great catch. But he had something she wanted and he gave it to her, several times every time she deigned to show up at his place.

Something was wrong with her, though. The last few times she'd come over, Sandor could feel her unhappiness. It was usually okay when she showed up, but by the time she was leaving it was just radiating off of her. Now, he knew she wasn't disappointed sexually. He'd made damn sure of that. He'd felt it in the wetness he found the second he'd touched her, in the way her cunt squeezed first his fingers and then his cock. She had been pleased, no question about it, but there was obviously something that had her disappointed while she slowly pulled her clothes back on while trying not to look at him.

He knew what it was. It was in the way she clung to him towards the end. In the way she stared up at him with such wide eyes, every thought clear as day in those blue depths. But she still hadn't said anything. He'd promised himself he would let her lead this relationship. So he would wait.

Shaking his head, Sandor sat up on the side of the bed and cursed at himself. Why the hell did he have to wait? It wasn't like he had lived the rest of his life waiting for others approval or go ahead. And, damn it, he was unhappy with this too.

"Sansa?" he stopped her with her hand on the door. She seemed to brace herself for a second, then looked over her shoulder at him. The sheer amount of hope in her gaze, the unshed tears, had him forgetting what he was supposed to say. So he pulled the first thing he could think of out of his ass and told her to call him when she got home. The second the words were out he wanted to kick himself. Although she smiled, that spark of hope fizzled out and then she was gone.

Sandor sat there for a moment, staring at the closed door. What exactly was he waiting for? If he kept acting like this was what he wanted as well, then some other guy was going to come along and sweep her off her feet. It would happen. Sansa was too damn pretty and too damn sweet to be someone's dirty little secret for long.

"Fuck that." he growled at himself, jerking up off the bed and yanking his jeans on. Shoving his feet inside of his boots and forgoing the rest of his clothing, Sandor flew out of the front door and down the stairs. He'd just finished zipping his pants when he hit the bottom landing and he could see Sansa outside the glass doors with her hand in the air to hail a cab.

Hitting the doors at a run, Sansa jumped and spun around and the tears streaking down her cheeks were just another kick in the gut.

"Sandor?" she dropped her arm and gave him a confused look but before she could say anything else he strode over to her and picked her up, kissing her with everything he had. Sansa didn't fight him. She wrapped her arms around him with a sob catching in her throat and kissed him back. Neither of them cared they were on a very public street but when the cab that had stopped for Sansa honked it's horn, Sandor pried a hand off her ass to wave it off before turning and carrying her back up to his flat, his mouth never leaving hers for more than a second to grab a breath.

The apartment door was still open and he stumbled in and kicked it shut before pushing Sansa up against it. Catching her face in both of his hands he pulled away to look at her. They were both panting, Sansa's eyes still a little glassy from crying but a smile slowly pulled up the corners of her kiss swollen mouth.

"Wow." she whispered.

"Yeah." Sandor bent and kissed the side of her neck. "Wow."

"What's all this?" she asked just as softly, neck arching and fingers combing through his hair.

"Stay." he breathed into her shoulder and he felt her breath catch and then her arms were wrapped tightly around his head and her lips were pressed into his hair.

"Of course."


	60. I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #100. I love you.
> 
> Since I cut this short and I'm stopping at 60, I wanted to skip ahead to the actual I Love You. 
> 
> Smut.

His body thrummed with his racing pulse, or maybe it was her racing pulse that echoed through him from where they were pressed so tightly to each other, nothing between them but heat and skin. Sandor tried to pretend he wasn't shaking, tried to put it off as the amount of arousal coursing through him, but he knew it wasn't. Lifting himself onto a shaky forearm next to her, he traced the arch of Sansa's eye brow with the tip of his trembling finger.

It was fear that had him shaking. Fear that reduced him to something close to a trembling pup.

Countless women had come before her. Faceless, mostly nameless, meaningless women had shared his bed and his body but none had ever, _ever_ , gotten inside of him like she had. None ever had or ever would hold a candle to the woman under him. And that scared him shitless.

"Sandor." she whispered his name, tipping her face into his touch, reaching up with an equally shaky hand to grab hold of his wrist and bring his hand to her mouth. There she kissed the tip of each finger, drawing his middle finger between her lips and stroking the pad with her tongue. His breath caught in his throat, heat surging through his body as he pressed his throbbing erection tighter against her. The rasp of her hair contrasted with the wet silk of her folds and he hissed at the sensation. Sansa moaned at the same time, her legs lifting to tighten around his hips, her head arching back into the pillow.

Doing it again, Sandor watched her face, wanting to make this as good as he could for her. He'd never thought he'd find Sansa in his bed, but he wasn't going to question it too hard. Not when he hadn't wanted anything else quite as much as her in his entire life. Hell, he'd burn a thousand times over if it meant she would be there to soothe the ache with her gentle touches.

Her eyes opened slowly, heavy and dark with need and they met his without shying away. Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, she reached down and placed her hands on both of his hips. "Please." she whispered, tilting her pelvis up to catch the head of him at her opening.

He had to close his eyes as he entered her. He couldn't watch her face while being washed with that much pleasure or this all would be over in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Once he was certain he wouldn't come on his first thrust, Sandor opened his eyes and started rolling his hips against hers. He tried to think past the near painful amount of pleasure her tight heat was bringing him to catalogue everything about her. The way her cheeks flushed. The way her breasts swayed. The soft noises she made with every thrust. How her lips parted with her shallow breathing and her eyes never strayed from his face. If this would be his only time to see her in this way, he damn sure wanted to remember it.

Curling an arm around her hips, Sandor rolled until he was sitting up against the headboard and she was riding him from his lap. He could see her better this way, touch her easier. And Sansa took the firmer stimulation it provided her to her full advantage.

When her inner muscles started contracting around him, Sandor tipped his head back and bit his bottom lip, trying to ride out her pleasure without ending himself. Sansa lifted both hands to twine into his hair as she leaned over him, her face hovering inches above his own and his eyes fluttered open.

"I love you." she whispered around a moan and his heart stuttered and his fingers gripped her hips tighter. "I love you." she repeated louder, her head tossing back, eyes shutting as she came.

His body let go like it had been waiting to hear her say those words and he lost his breath, his thoughts, _his heart_ , as he gathered her tightly to his chest. Burying his face into her hair, he took big gulps of air as he fought against passing completely out.

"I do." she said softly, her smaller body shivering against him. Sandor hugged her tighter. "I love you, Sandor Clegane."

Turning his head, he caught her mouth with his and kissed her slowly. "I love you too, little bird."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. Give me a week or so and I hope to get the first chapter of the #13 extension out. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have read and commented and left kudos! These have been super fun to write and play around with.


	61. Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #60. Happy Birthday
> 
> Smut to ease back into the swing of things :)

Sandor didn't want a birthday party. Having all the guys at the gym drag him out to some fucking club just so he could get shitfaced on too expensive drinks while trying to ignore the amount of people trying not to look at his face and failing miserably.

No. Fucking. Thanks.

He hightailed it out of the gym before Bronn finished up with the conditioning of a new welter weight prospect. Jumping on his bike, he drove home with every intention of turning off his cell, drinking what was left of his bottle of whiskey, trying to forget he was getting older, and then passing out. Once he was home, he got the first part done and was working on the second when there was a knock on his door. Probably fucking Bronn come to take him to the bar. Or, gods forbid, fucking Tormund. That ginger cunt wouldn't let it go as quickly as Bronn would.

A look out the peephole showed it was a ginger, but not the annoying cunt. It was the other ginger, the pretty one with the sweet smile and perfect tits. Not to mention an ass that kept him up at night. Sansa had started coming to the gym about six months ago for the self protection courses Brienne had suggested. She'd started off scared and timid, too frightened to even meet his eyes.

Now...now things were different.

"Sandor!" she said his name in a sing song voice. "I know you're in there. Open up, big boy."

Sandor hated when she called him that. It made him forget all the reasons he couldn't have her. Made him want to throw her against the nearest wall and show her just how big of a boy he really was. Likely to the result of her screaming and filing harassment charges.

Unfortunately for Sandor, he couldn't help doing what she wanted most of the time. So he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Keeping his body in the way, he leaned a shoulder against the frame and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is this your way of not inviting me in?" she asked with a pretty little pout.

"What do you want?" he asked, noting how little she actually had on. Her jeans looked like they were painted on and the lethal looking heels brought her up to the level of his chin. The top she wore looked like it had been a t shirt at one time, but the sleeves and the bottom had been cut off. Her entire midriff was visible, her sexy arms, and the neckline had been cut enough that an ample amount of her breasts were showing. She normally didn't dress provocatively and Sandor was having a damn hard time controlling his reaction to her.

"Well, see." she cocked her head and bit her lip as one hand came up, a blood red fingernail running down his sternum. "What I want, _to do_ , would hardly be appropriate on the front stoop. Unless we want the Kingsguard called on us." she giggled at that, but despite all her sexual teasing and bravado, her cheeks blushed brightly and the finger on his chest was shaking just a little.

Not putting too much thought into it, not that he actually could with the southern flow of his blood, Sandor grabbed her wrist and tugged her in before slamming the door behind them. Gathering up her hair in both hands, he pulled her face up to his and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. He half expected her to shove him off, but instead she grabbed him by the hips and kissed him even harder, sucking on his tongue lewdly. His breath ripped from his throat, and Sansa took the moment to flip them around and shove him against the door. She bit his lip, and then she was gone. Sandor blinked at nothing for one whole second before glancing down at the top of her head while she worked the lounge pants he had on down to his knees.

"Sansa, what the... _oh fuck me_." he groaned as she took him as far as she could, the wet heat of her mouth causing his knees to buckle a little before he locked them and leaned back against the door. He had no idea what had gotten into her, or where any of this had come from. And he didn't give a fuck. Not when she was blowing him with everything she was worth, making noises like it was the best thing she'd ever done.

Gathering her hair in his fist, he dropped his head back against the door and glanced down to watch her move over him. It was a little embarrassing how quickly he felt himself on the edge.

"Sansa." he rasped her name, firming his hold on her hair. "Stop, Little Bird."

She pulled back, releasing him with a pop, but kept her lips pressed to the head of him.

"No." she shook her head. "I want to get you off like this. I want you to take hold of my hair and show me how you like it."

Giving in was simple, so he did. Threading both hands into her hair while she went back to sucking him, Sandor gave into desire and started moving her head faster, countering with the thrust of his hips. No matter what she'd said, he controlled himself enough to not choke her or hurt her. When that boiling tension got too much, he retained enough presence of mind to give her a brief warning before spilling down her throat with a deep groan.

His legs wobbled dangerously and he worked his fingers free of her hair, chest billowing. She rose slowly, pushing her hands up under his shirt to rub his abdominals. She met his eyes with a satisfied look, her lips shiny and swollen.

"What was that about?" he managed to ask, too sated to work up much else.

"That was about four months worth of waiting for you to make a move." she grinned. "You never did. So I thought perhaps I might need to make the move."

"Terrific fucking move." he smirked, hooking a hand around her neck to pull her into a lazy kiss.

"Hm." she hummed against his lips before pulling back with a full blown smile. "Happy birthday."

"Best damn birthday." he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm picking up where I left off. Since I did chapter 60 as the 100th way, way #60 will be 61 and so on and so forth. Enjoy!!


	62. I'll pick it up after work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #61. I'll pick it up after work.
> 
> Fluff

The sound of a hairdryer through the open bathroom door woke Sandor up. He rolled to his side with a groan and a full body stretch. Looking at the clock on the bedside table showed it was just after seven thirty in the morning. From his spot, he could see Sansa's back as she used some circular brush on her hair as she held the blow dryer above her head. As per usual, she was wearing only her panties. This morning they were a soft pink cotton with silver stars dotting all over. Somehow both adorable and sexy.

This was his favorite time of morning. Laying in bed, watching his stunning girlfriend attend to all her morning rituals. Often she had music playing softly from her phone, her hips swinging to the beat, occasionally singing out along with the song. He could take in all her perfection without her knowledge, see her completely at ease and natural. It was these times that he allowed himself to fully take in the fact that she was his, that she loved him and enjoyed his company enough that she agreed to live with him.

Fucking mind-blowing.

"Are you going to laze about in bed all day?" Sansa asked as she clicked off the hairdryer, bringing him out of his perusal of her naked back. "Or do you plan on getting up?"

"I don't work today." he reminded her. "I'm on my two days off. If I don't want to get out of bed, I bloody well wont." he smirked at her eye roll, but pulled himself out of bed anyway. Coming up behind her, he kissed her bare neck while she started applying light makeup. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder at watched her in the mirror for a moment.

"Oh, I've been meaning to tell you." she capped her mascara and met his eyes in the reflection. She seemed both nervous and determined. "I'm late."

"You don't have to be to work until nine." he reminded her, then let go of her waist as she turned around to face him. It had taken very little time for her to be comfortable in her nudity around him. She leaned back to rest her bum on the vanity counter.

"That's not what I'm late for." she quirked a grin. "My period. It's late."

Sandor thought this moment would shock him, but honestly it didn't. He knew very well that Sansa didn't take any sort of contraceptive. Something about hormone fluctuations. They'd started out with using condoms, but somewhere along the way they had stopped. That had been about five months ago. Something like this was bound to happen. Not to mention he was fighting a smile as he took in her eyes glowing with happiness.

"How late?" he braced his hands on the counter by her hips, leaning in to rub his lips along her shoulder.

"Um..." she paused, thinking. "About two weeks."

"That's pretty late." he nipped softly at the curve of her neck. "You should probably take a test."

"True." she giggled a little when his beard scruff tickled her throat. "I'll pick it up after work." she grabbed his face and pulled his lips to hers, giving him a long, slow, loving kiss. "We can take it together."

"Seems like a just you sort of job." he taunted, biting at her bottom lip.

Sansa giggled, slapping at his bare chest lightly. "Alright. We can read the results together."

"Can't wait, Little Bird."


	63. 62. It can wait until tomorrow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 62\. It can wait until tomorrow.
> 
> Domestic non-bliss. TW for real portrayal of new parenthood ;)

Blessed silence. Sansa hadn't heard silence in what felt like forever. Her ears still rang a bit with the echos of high pitched crying. Her nipples were sore, her breasts ached, her head hurt, and her lower back was killing her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten a proper hot meal instead of just bits and peices she could snatch here and there between feeding times and diaper changes and never ending crying. Nor could she remember the last time she slept more than two hours at a time.

At the moment, she lay flat on her back on the sofa, one leg hanging over the edge. Her tired eyes were shut, but her mind was running a mile a minute. Now that Leanor was sleeping, _finally_ , there was so much she needed to be doing. The breast pump needed sterilized. The laundry piles were becoming near mountainous. There was dishes in the sink. The floors were in dire need of a sweep and a mop. Not to mention she could use a shower. And a hot meal. There was simply no time for an early turn in. 

Her entire body jerked when she suddenly felt like she was falling. Her eyes snapped open to find she was no long in the living room, but was being lowered down onto their bed.

"Sh." Sandor soothed her, pushing her dirty hair away from her eyes. "Go back to sleep."

"Sandor." she smiled at him with a sigh. He'd been on a two week long turnover at the rig, and she had missed him dearly. "You're home."

"I am." he kissed her forehead. His hair still held a hint of the smell of oil and grease. "You look run ragged."

"Your daughter is a demanding little thing." she smiled. Sandor snorted, then shoved onto the bed next to her, curling himself around her. She could tell he was also bone tired. He always was when he came off the rig.

"I need to do laundry." she mumbled, but snuggled tighter into his embrace. "And the dishes. I haven't gotten anything out to cook dinner with, either."

"Fuck it." he rasped into her hair. "It can wait until tomorrow."

He was right, she supposed, sleep pulling her under quickly. Unfortunately for the both of them, while the house work could wait until tomorrow, fussy little Leanor could only wait until about another two hours.


	64. 63. Cross my heart and hope to die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 63\. Cross my heart and hope to die. 
> 
> Baby Sandor and Sansa cuteness.

The sound of the river rushing was the background music to which they played by. Every day, unless it was raining, the two of them met up at their secret spot. Sandor would bring the snacks, usually a package of cookies or crackers from the pantry without his mother seeing, and Sansa would bring her bag full of toys.

It embarrassed him at first, that the only person that wanted to play with him was a little girl two years younger than him with her red hair up in braided pigtails and two of her bottom teeth missing. He was old enough to realize that someone who lived in her neighborhood shouldn't be hanging out with someone from his, but she didn't seem to care so Sandor never mentioned it. Not when she smiled at him without flinching.

"Would you like to be Prince Charming today?" She asked after they finished off what was left of the peanut butter cookies he'd brought. She was sitting on the blanket Sandor brought as well, an old plaid one that his dad wouldn't miss. Sansa didn't like getting her dresses dirty and the riverbank made that difficult. With her legs pulled off to the side, she had emptied out her backpack to show her bounty for the day. She held out a boy doll towards him, all blonde hair and chiseled features with princely clothes on.

"No." Sandor scrunched his nose up and pushed the doll away. "He's too... _handsome_."

Sansa giggled at that, turning the doll around to look at him herself.

"I suppose you're right." she conceded sweetly. "So, it's your favorite knight dolly again, is it?" she picked up the knight with his rusting and chipped armor. He was missing his sword, but Sandor had fashioned a twig into one for him.

The fact that Sansa thought a doll was his favorite toy caused his face to flush hotly, but it also had fear curling in his stomach. He could just see Gregor's face as he found out.

"Don't mock me." he snapped, grabbing the knight from her hand and throwing it towards the waters edge. "I don't want to play with your damn dolls. Gregor was right. All girls are stupid." He turned away from her, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes stung a bit, thinking he'd probably just ruined the friendship he had with Sansa. His only friend.

Sansa was quiet for a long time, which was unusual. She normally talked his ear off. He nearly jumped when she suddenly plopped herself down in front of him. She didn't look angry or hurt. She looked a bit sad, maybe, big blue eyes looking up at him with a soft expression.

"I'd never tell Gregor, or anyone, about our playtime." she said softly but firmly. "This, here," she motioned around them. "is our place and our time. No one else is allowed. You don't have to worry about your big, mean, stupid brother. I'll never tell him."

Sandor eyed her suspiciously for a second before looking down at his torn jeans in shame. "You promise?"

Sansa reached out and grabbed his wrist with her tiny little hand. He looked up at her when she did. With her free hand she made a crossing motion over her chest.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." she said solemnly. Sandor nodded with a sniff.

"I'll grab the knight." he stood up and brushed off his jeans. "But your doll wont ignore him for that bloody prince, will she?"

Sansa gave him a reprimanding look.

"You watch your mouth, mister." she scolded him. "And no. Princes with blonde hair and pretty faces are boring and silly. My dolls much prefer the company of your kind knight."


	65. It's two sugars, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 64\. It's two sugars, right?
> 
> Continuation of #20. Professor Clegane and grad student Sansa. :)

The little room sat off the library, near all the other study rooms. This one was different in that it was much smaller, only one long table with eight chairs on either side. The lighting was dim and other than a few rows of reference books, there was only a coffee bar in the corner. Which should have been her first indication that it was being used, but no one was ever there and it was the perfect place to study. Sansa was alone the first three times she had come, but then the forth someone had already been sitting inside. 

Professor Clegane said his office was useless to use. Students knew where it was and bugged him all the time and he never got any work done. The private little study room was perfect to get his markings and lesson plans done. He hadn't seemed to mind too awfully bad that she was there as well, although he kept to the opposite side and end of the long desk as her. Over the course of the semester, that space between them diminished until she sat directly across from him. 

They worked well together. Sandor would help her when needed, and if she got done with her studying, or needed an excuse to stay close to him, she would help him grade his other classes work. They kept mostly to academics, with only the occasional slip of something personal being discussed between them. After all, they were hardly allowed to form a personal relationship. He was her professor, and she respected him. No matter what her desires were, she couldn't and wouldn't put his career at risk. And although his all too intense gaze would occasionally linger on her longer than strictly necessary, Sansa surmised that he respected her enough to not want to abuse the power he held over her and put her education in jeopardy. Which, really, made her want him all the more.

That was then, however. This, today, was different. Today Sansa was finished with his class. As of earlier that morning, when she'd walked out of his class, Sandor Clegane was no longer her professor. That was why she wasn't going home today for break. It was why she found herself in their little room, pretending to work on her computer while he sat across from her and furiously marked the end of semester tests. He had a habit of biting the unburnt corner of his bottom lip when he graded and it always made her tingle pleasantly. If only he would hurry up and finish his work.

Suddenly he tossed his pen down and cracked his knuckles before standing and moving to the coffee bar. He grabbed two cups and filled them each.

"It's two sugars, right?" he asked over his shoulder, already adding it to her cup. Sansa smiled, chest warming. She had never told him that before, so he must have taken notice on his own.

"Yes, please." she didn't bother to stop smiling at him when he returned and handed her the cup. Purposefully, she let her fingers graze over his as she grabbed the cup. His eyes locked on hers, jaw muscle feathering, and he didn't let go of the cup.

"Did you realize," she whispered. "that you are no longer my professor?"

"I did." he rasped, slowly lowering the cup to the table between them. "Since I graded your final first, you're no longer my student anymore either."

"What are we going to do about that shift in our dynamic?"

Still looking at her, Sandor slowly sat in his chair. "Are you not going back North for break, Ms. Stark?"

"No." Sansa smiled. "And I would really, really like it if you would call me Sansa now."

"Sansa." he tried the name out, causing her to blush. Then he cleared his throat. "Bugger it all. I want to see you. Outside of school. If you're free sometime during your break."

"I'm free tonight." she said a little too eagerly. "And the rest of break.  What exactly would we be doing outside of school, Professor Clegane?" 

"Whatever the fuck you want to do." he shrugged. "So long as you call me Sandor now. And I finally get to see if your lips taste as sweet as you take your coffee." 

"I think we can work that in, Sandor." she giggled. "But you have to promise to show me if that body of yours is as strong as the coffee you drink." 


	66. I'll help you study.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #65. I'll help you study.

It felt bloody fucking ridiculous. He'd been out of high school for over fifteen years. Even back then going to college seemed like a shit idea. It mattered now, but still. He felt like a fucking grandpa compared to most of the kids in his classes. Not to mention it had been forever since he had to think about parallelograms or what happened during the Targaryen Dynasty. Numbers at least came easily to him. They always had. Remembering all those tiny little details of wars and eras gone by, that was another story. He had a test on the history of dragons tomorrow, which was why he was in the campus library so late with his table piled with books and his laptop sitting open in front of him.

Someone pulled out the chair across from him and Sandor cursed to himself before lifting his eyes with his most intimidating scowl firmly in place. He didn't have time for these young pups bullshit. The scowl faltered a little bit when he realized it wasn't some frat prick sitting opposite him, but the pretty redhead he'd seen several times around campus.

"Hello." she said softly in difference to where they were, a sweet smile on her face.

"What do you want?" he asked, pen tapping impatiently and perhaps a little nervously on his open text book.

She seemed to hesitate, probably rethinking why exactly she came over to him, but she pressed on. "I was just packing up and I had noticed you over here all evening. I thought maybe I could be of some help, if you need it."

"How the fuck would you be able to help me?" he rasped, eyeing her critically. She was a fair bit younger than him, but that didn't mean much here. He was in his first year of college at 32. Most likely she was his senior in years attended.

Her cheeks flushed a little at his cursing, but she lifted her chin valiantly, no longer smiling at him. "I remember Westerosi History. My father actually teaches it."

"Your father is Professor Stark?" he asked, trying to see any resemblance between his long faced, serious professor and the ladylike beauty sitting before him.

"He is." she smiled proudly, and Sandor caught a bit of it there. Professor Stark was also a proud man.

"Listen, girl, if you came over here to mock the scarred up old man for just starting college, you can fuck right off and leave me be."  

One perfectly sculpted brow rose as she eyed him. "First of all, it's Sansa, and I'm not a girl. I'm a lady." she told him haughtily. "And another, I would never mock you. Especially not for the things you just said. You can't help your scars, you're not  _that_ old, and I think it's very brave for you to be starting school just now. It's never too late to make a new start. And no, sir, I did not come over here for any of that." 

"Don't call me sir." he grumbled, hating how it made him feel even older. "It's Sandor. I've got a lot of work to do, gir...Sansa. Get on with what you wanted from me." 

"I'll ignore your sour attitude for now and assume you are just stressed about the upcoming test. I'll also assume you will try and watch your language from now on, at least around me." she gave him an imperial look, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "If you can manage that, I'll help you study." 

Sitting back in his chair, Sandor considered her for a moment. It wasn't every day that a young, strikingly pretty girl talked to him, not to mention stand up to him they way she just had. He liked the mix of her kindness and haughtiness. Studying with her wouldn't be the worst thing he'd ever done. And it gave him the excuse to look at her some more. 

"Alright." he finally nodded. "But I draw the line at putting money in any sort of bloody swear jar or some shit like that." 

She laughed a little at that with a roll of her eyes. "Of course not. You'd be broke by the time we finish studying if we did that." 


	67. Stay over.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 66\. Stay over.  
> Mentions of abuse.

It was raining when Sansa finally found her moment to sneak out of the house. She had heard Joffrey talking with one of his buddies about how he wondered what Sansa would act like if he messed up her pretty little face instead of just bruising her body. She had been thinking of ways to leave before, but she wasn't willing to wait any longer, not after he and Trant were doing lines of coke when she claimed a headache and went to bed. Trant was always most violent when he was high, and Joffrey even more sadistic. 

With her small duffle bag over her shoulder, Sansa left through the back door and ran for it without a single glance backwards. No one yelled, and when she'd gone so far that her lungs felt like they were on fire, no one had caught up to her so she figured she'd gotten out unseen. She had no idea where she was going at first, but she wasn't surprised at all to find herself at his front door. She'd only been here once, when Joffrey had picked him up. Never had she been inside. 

When he opened the door, he only looked mildly surprised before casting a quick glance around behind her and pulling her inside. He left her in the sparse living room while he got her a towel. 

"So that's it." he breathed as he watched her rub her hair dry. "The little bird finally escaped her cage." 

It dawned on her then that he might not be willing to hide her, or lie that he hadn't seen her. Yes, he'd protected her and kept her out of what harm he could, but he'd also never put his own job in jeopardy.

"I'm sorry." she looked down at the worn towel in her hands and worried the frayed edge. "I shouldn't have come here. You'll lose your job, your life, if Joff finds out I was here. If-if you could just tell me where the nearest hotel is, I'll be out of your hair."

Sandor sighed deeply, a rumble in his chest that reminded her of a low growl. "Daft girl. He'll look for you at a hotel, especially one nearby."

"Of course." she conceded, feeling stupid that she hadn't thought of that. "A bus station, then. Or...or the number for a cab company."

"Don't you know who it is you left?" Sandor rasped angrily, startling Sansa enough to snap her head up at him. He was looming over her now, but she didn't back away. "The Lannister's own everyone in this shit hole of a city. Wherever you take that bus or cab, Joffrey will know about by morning. He'll find you and what do you think he'll do to you then, huh? He'll pluck you free of all your feathers and break every bone you've got."

Sansa started crying then, the hopelessness of her situation settling in. She really hadn't thought things out very far, just giving in to the instinct to escape and run.

"I..." she sniffled down a sob. "I don't know what to do."

"So you came here?" he questioned roughly. "To me? The Lannister dog." he snorted a laugh. "Why?"

Wiping under one eye, Sansa looked up at him. There was something in his eyes, something that seemed to be almost hopeful.

"I trust you." she whispered, watching as he flinched at the words. "I trust you and you've always kept me safe. You're the only... _friend_ I have. I suppose I wanted to see you one last time before I left. To say goodbye." her voice cracked on the last word, so she stopped to swallow hard. "It was silly of me to come. I've put you in danger." she stooped over to pick up her duffle where she'd dropped it. 

Reaching out with one hand, Sansa grasped his forearm gently as she looked up at him. "Goodbye, Sandor Clegane." 

He said nothing, just stared down at her with a completely blank face, but his eyes were a storm. She gave him a watery smile, then headed for his front door. 

"Wait." he stopped her with her hand on the knob. She looked back over her shoulder at him, finding him looking back at her. The blank expression was gone, and he almost looked afraid. "Stay." 

Her heart gave a painful lurch, then sank in her belly. "I can't, Sandor. I can't be with him any longer or he'll destroy me completely."

"Not with him." he nearly barked, striding towards her and pressing a hand against the door so she couldn't open it. Sansa dropped her hand from the knob and turned her body to face him. He knelt slightly so his face was closer to hers, eyes flicking between hers. "With me." 

"Oh, Sandor." she dropped her bag again, tears welling up in her eyes as she cupped his face in both hands. "I can't. You know I can't. He'll find me with you eventually." 

Sandor shook his head, grasping both her wrists but not removing her hands. "Let me take you away. I can get you home, and I'll kill any fucker that gets in our way."

This, Sansa suddenly realized, was why she came here. Somewhere deep inside she had wanted this to happen, for him to offer to take her away and in turn Sansa would also take him away from this awful place and these terrible people. 

"Stay over." he went on, rough hands sliding down her arms and then following the flare of her sides to come to rest on her hips. "He won't look for you here. I'll go to work tomorrow, get my check and my gear, and we'll leave tomorrow night." he tugged gently on her hips and Sansa let him pull her body flush with his, her hands going around to grasp the back of his neck. 

"Yes." she whispered through fresh tears. "Let's get out of here, you and me." 

A grin spread across his face and it warmed her heart to see. "You and me, Little Bird." 


	68. I did the dishes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 67\. I did the dishes. 
> 
> Domestic arguments and makeups.

They had been living together now for over a year. Mostly, things had been wonderful. Sansa worked part time at her fathers firm while she finished up a few online courses and then she'd come on full time. Sandor worked full time, and a lot of over time, at the quarry. His long hours meant they weren't home together for a very long time, but Sansa relished the time they did have. She couldn't imagine waking up on her own anymore without Sandor's warmth there beside her. 

Of course they fought. Little arguments that generally got settled quickly. Earlier tonight, they'd had their first big fight. 

Sandor had come home later than normal, covered in rock dust and looking for all the world like he'd fall asleep standing. Sansa had been sitting on the sofa when he came in, finishing up some work. She smiled at him when he walked into the living room, but it wasn't returned. 

"You've got to be shitting me." he glared at her, arms crossing over his chest. 

"What?" Sansa looked around herself for an explanation, but found none. 

"I busted my ass at work today and here you are, sitting like a fucking princess in your blankets fucking off on social media." he took a few steps into the living room and pointed through to the open kitchen. "I had to skip lunch because we were so busy and there isn't even any damn dinner ready. Really, Sansa, was your two hour desk job so tiring that you couldn't do anything since you got home?" 

Flushed with indignation, Sansa sat her computer to the side and stood up. "How dare you walk in here and start berating me like I'm some wifey out of the twenties." she scolded him. "I worked more than two hours, Sandor. And I am not on social media. I work hard, not as physically as you of course, but it isn't an easy job. On top of that I do school work. And it's not like I get any sort of help from you around the house. When was the last time you picked up your own laundry, or turned on a vacuum?" 

"I'm dead on my feet here, girl. I refuse to come home after the hours I worked and have to worry about stupid shit like housework and finding my own dinner when you've been home for hours." 

That felt like a slap in the face and she was suddenly fighting back tears. "You're being horrible." she said softly, not wanting her voice to break. " _I_ refuse to sit here and be talked to like this." she moved around him and grabbed her keys off the hook by the door. 

"Where in the bloody hell do you think you're going?" Sandor demanded as she pulled on her coat. 

"Arya's." she said without looking at him. "We'll talk when you can manage not to be so mean." 

Pulling open the door, she paused and looked back at him. The sight of him almost did her in. His shoulders slumped, one rough and dirty hand holding his forehead tightly. He needed space, though, and so did she. 

"Your dinner is sitting in the oven." she told him softly before closing the door behind her. 

That night had been miserable. Sansa didn't sleep a wink and all she wanted to do was go back home, but she was still hurt by how Sandor had spoken to her. After she'd taken the time to calm down, she knew his attitude was mostly from being exhausted and overworked. Likely something had happened at the jobsite to put him in a bad mood. It didn't excuse his behavior, but at least she could understand more easily. 

As soon as the sun came up, Sansa made her way back home. It was Sunday, so she didn't work, but she wasn't sure if Sandor had to or not. Sometime he did, sometimes he didn't. When she got to the house and his truck was still in the drive, she breathed a breath of relief. Expecting him to be asleep, she was surprised to find him sitting at the dinning table with a coffee mug between his hands. His hair was a mess and he still wore only his pajama bottoms. 

"Hey." she greeted him sheepishly, shedding her coat and making her way to sit across from him. 

"I was a dick last night." he said, tired grey eyes looking at her almost pleadingly. 

"You were." she agreed with a small smile. 

"I thought..." he stopped and cleared his throat, eyes sinking down to his coffee cup. "When you never came home last night, I thought maybe you weren't going to." 

"Oh, Sandor." Sansa sighed, moving over to the chair next to him and putting both hands on his forearm. "It was an argument, a fight. I wouldn't just leave you like that." 

"I shouldn't have talked to you like that." he looked up at her. "You've got to know I didn't mean it. I was just so goddamn tired. It was such a shit day." 

"I understand." she said gently. "But you can't take it out on me like that." 

"I know." he covered her hands on his arm with his free one. "I'm trying here." 

Sansa nodded with a swallow before putting her head on his shoulder. "I said some things I didn't mean, either. I enjoy taking care of you. You work so hard for us and I really don't mind doing the housework." 

"Yeah, but you were right. I can help out more than I do. Be more thankful for the shit you do." he leaned his head on top of hers. 

"You can do, yes." she laughed lightly. 

"I did the dishes." he said after a moment of silence. "Couldn't figure out that fucking dishwasher, so I just did them by hand. I'm not sure where all that shit goes, though, so they're in the drying rack." 

"I'll show you where it all goes later." she stood up and took his hand. "For now, lets go back to bed. I didn't sleep very well without you last night." 

Following her to the bedroom, Sansa paused at the door when she saw the bed was perfectly made up with the throw pillows placed just like she'd left them. She cast Sandor a confused look and he shrugged. 

"I didn't even try to go to bed." he said with an embarrassed look. "It doesn't happen when you aren't there anyway." 

"Alright, mister." she shoved him towards the bed. "It's bedtime. And when we wake up, you can show me just how sorry you are about last night." 

Sandor chuckled, crawling onto the bed and tossing pillows behind him. "Sorry enough that you won't sit comfortably for a few days." 


	69. You didn't have to ask.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 68\. You didn't have to ask.
> 
> sugary fluff.

Slowly, in an attempt to mask his limp as best he could, Sandor made his way through the castle. A thousand things ran through his head, wondering why the Lady of Winterfell had summoned him to her solar just before dinner. 

Still being the pessimist that he was, Sandor couldn't help but wonder if this was it. Now that Winterfell, and the North, was back on their feet after the Long Night had ended, maybe she didn't have use for him any longer. There were younger, more able men to lead her forces or to command her garrison. Men more suited for the job than a Westerland born, near lame old dog. 

Ever since leaving the Lannister's, Sandor had floated about, staying where he could and never overly concerned about where he'd lay his head next. Now, having been at Winterfell for so long, he couldn't imagine going back to that sort of life, but he also knew he'd never return to Clegane Keep. He wanted to stay here. He liked having a steady job to do, a purpose to his days. He liked having his own little room, even if his feet did hang off the edge of the mattress. The castle welcomed him, it's damaged and repaired walls felt accepting. The soldiers all respected him, he had connections here. A life. 

Winterfell had become home to him. He was reluctant to leave it. 

The Lady of Winterfell would be that deciding factor, though. As much as it felt like his home, Sansa was a part of the castle. She was as much a part of Winterfell as the North was a part of her. It was her, with her kind smiles and her warm and caring heart, that made it hardest to imagine leaving. Once, years ago, he'd left her. The pain of it was masked by his own inner turmoil, but he did feel the loss of her being there. And again, at the beginning of the war, he'd found her once again only to be pulled away. He felt it keenly then, and the thought of losing her now...he couldn't think of it. 

Knocking at the door of her solar, her voice allowed him entrance. 

"Oh, Clegane." she smiled when she looked up and saw it was him. "I hope I didn't take you away from anything important." 

"No, My Lady." he assured her, cocking his weight to his good leg while he gripped the back of the chair before him. 

"Good." she smiled again, but there was something that almost seemed nervous about her demeanor as she rose from her chair, putting the quill she'd been writing with to the side. "As you know, Winterfell has once again gained her legs. We,  _I_ , need to start appointing official positions. Which brought you to my attention." 

Sandor looked down at his hands on the back of the chair. His knuckles were white they were holding it so hard. He eased his grip. "What of me, My Lady?" 

"I received a letter from Jon." she motioned to a scroll on her desk. "He's fitting his Kingsguard and requested you." she glanced up at him, and it might have been the trick of the flickering candles, but her eyes seemed to glitter with unshed tears. 

Swallowing hard, Sandor forced himself to hold her gaze. "What do you wish me to do?"

"I want you to do what would make you most happy." she moved around the desk and stood beside him. "After all you've done, all you've gone through, you deserve a choice."

Turning his body to face her, Sandor searched her face for a moment. "What would you have me do, Sansa?" he asked seriously, dropping her title and asking the girl he cared for, not the woman in charge of a realm.

"I would have you stay." she placed her hand over his still on the back of the chair. "I would have Winterfell be your home and you by my side."

Lifting his free hand, Sandor cupped the side of her face, thumb stroking over smooth skin.

"Will you?" she whispered. "Will you stay here with me? Forever?"

Tipping her chin up towards him, he turned his hand under hers so he could grip her fingers. Leaning down, he drew his nose along the edge of hers, rubbing the unburnt corner of his mouth against her lips until she gave a shuttering breath and lifted on her toes to press their lips together more firmly.

"You didn't have to ask." he rasped against her lips. "I'm happy here. Winterfell is my home, if only because you are here."  


	70. I bought you a ticket.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 69\. I bought you a ticket.

The weather and the time made it so the station was mostly empty. Snow blanketed the ground and swirled in the night air, softening everything and muting the noise of the trains. Sansa stood near the platform, bag in her hand, as she watched Sandor at the teller window. Unlike her, he wore no hat and his coat was left open. She fought the urge to mother him and button it up and tell him he needed a scarf. 

Finishing with the teller, Sandor turned and moved towards her. His black hair was flecked with snowflakes and there were a few clinging to his beard. 

"I bought you a ticket." he thrust the ticket at her and Sansa took it hesitantly. "Train leaves in ten minutes." 

Ten minutes. Ten minutes and she would be on her way back home after all these horrid years. The snow here in the south was making her ache for the north, where it would be thicker and heavier and far colder. She loved it, missed it. Perhaps not as much as the man standing before her though. 

"What will you do?" she asked, moving a bit closer to the warmth coming from his large body. 

"Can't go back to the Lannister's." he shrugged. "Maybe further south. Braavos or Dorne." 

Sansa tried to picture it, but she couldn't. He seemed so at home here in the snow and cold. He looked like a true northerner. He fit, the harsh weather yes, but he also fit her. She couldn't imagine him an entire country away from her. 

"What about north?" she asked, breath misting the air between them as she stepped closer, booted toes just a step away from his. 

His head cocked to the side as he studied her face, grey eyes searching. "What would the north hold for me?" 

"The north holds me." she gave him a soft smile. "And if you come with me, you could hold me as well." 

"You'd want that?" he brought freezing cold fingers up to touch her cheek. "To be held by a scarred and old dog like me?" 

Sansa leaned into his touch, cupping the back of his hand with hers. "There isn't much I want more." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took forever because I couldn't really find something that seemed to work for them with the prompt that I was happy with. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's the best I can come up with. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!


	71. You're warm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #70. You're warm.

Although it was late at night, Sandor wasn't sleeping. He'd just wincingly stoked his fire and now lay in his small bed listening to the wind howl outside. The shutters on his window rattled and groaned, but did their job of keeping the cold mostly outside because despite the Long Night having ended, it was still freezing up here in the North. This room, his room, was far nicer than the one he'd originally been assigned. That one had been in the servants quarters, and two other cots had been inside as well. When Lady Stark found out where the head of her house guard was sleeping, she'd made quick work of moving him into the main part of the living quarters of the castle. Now he slept at the end of the same hall as she did. His room was still on the smaller side compared to the one he slept in at Kings Landing, but it was comfortable even if his bed was narrow and a little too short for him. At least the furs were warm and if something were to happen, he was only a short run down the hall from his Lady. 

His door creaking open had him jolting up in bed, hand going under his pillow and curling around the handle of his dagger. With the light of the fire he immediately realized it was Sansa, but that didn't have him releasing the dagger. He sat silent for a moment, waiting for her to state the emergency that brought her to his room, but instead she latched the door behind her and calmly strode towards his bed. When she passed the small table nearby where his long sword and his short sword lay, she let her finger drag lightly along the blade with a smile on her face. 

"What is it, My Lady?" he asked, pushing the furs off and making to stand up, but then froze when she pulled the tie on her dressing gown and let the heavy fabric fall to the floor at her feet. He swallowed hard when her eyes found his in the dim lighting, that same smile on her face as she closed the distance between them. Without speaking a word, she urged him to lay back down and he silently obeyed, watching her with awed curiosity as she slid onto the narrow bed next to him. Without thought, he scooted over to give her more room, rolling up onto his side facing her as she did the same. She pulled the furs back over them, cold little feet shoving their way between his calves as her arm went around his waist. A second later, her face nuzzled into his chest hair, left bare by the fact he wore only breeches. 

"Mm." she hummed contentedly as she snuggled closer to him. "You're warm." 

Sandor let out a breath and gently cradled her body against his. He felt warm. Almost too warm. The sort that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the blooming softness in his chest. 


	72. No reason.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #71. No reason.
> 
> Mentions of blood. Nothing graphic. You should totally be fine.

The bullet had hit his thigh. Just a graze, but it bled like crazy. More than enough to make an already unsettled Sansa nauseous. He hadn't really even seemed to notice until after he'd knocked Blount unconscious. He'd looked where she was cowered in the corner, his face going pale as blood started to drip out of the bottom of his jeans. He stumbled a step and Sansa jumped up, knowing she needed to get him to the car before he passed out. There was no possible way that she would have been able to move an unconscious man the size of Sandor Clegane. 

The adrenaline had worn off about half way to the hospital and by that time he was grunting and groaning in pain. He was keeping pressure on the wound, but it seemed the harder he held it, the louder he howled. Sansa kept apologizing as she sped up faster. It was drizzling when she came to a squealing halt out front of the emergency department doors. Sansa took as much of his weight as she could and together they hobbled into the waiting room. The receptionist went into action the second she saw them and a brief moment later two nurses were there with a wheelchair. 

It was a blur of activity once they were back in one of the tiny rooms. Sansa was shoved off to a corner as a doctor rushed in. Sandor's jeans were cut off him while one of the nurses drilled Sansa with question after question. It seemed like forever before he was given enough pain medication that he stopped shouting and cussing. His leg was stitched up and cleaned, and then it all calmed down. The nurses and the doctor left. The lights were dimmed to allow Sandor rest, and she was instructed to wait until his blood work came back in case he needed some blood. 

Pulling a chair up near his little cot, Sansa curled up in a ball and closed her eyes, the chaos of the last few hours catching up to her. Sandor grunting and shifting woke her up. 

"What is it?" she asked, still half asleep as she sat up and scanned his body. 

"You're still here?" he asked in a groggy voice. "Should fly away, Little Bird. Police will be here soon." 

"I know." she leaned forward to rest her elbow on his bed and propped her chin up. His grey eyes were a little unfocused as he looked up at her. 

"Why're you still here?" 

Sansa blushed, unable to hold his gaze, reaching out a hand to hold onto his forearm. "No reason." 

He snorted at that, but let his eyes fall closed. "A Little Bird and her lies." 

"Alright." she said softly, rubbing her fingers through the hair on his arm. "Then tell me why you saved me tonight? Why did you take a bullet for me?"

His eyes opened heavily and a smirk pulled at his mouth. "No reason." 

Sansa chuckled, moving her hand down to take hold of his big paw. He squeezed her fingers in return. 

"At least we're on the same page, then." she whispered. 


	73. I'll meet you halfway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #72. I'll meet you halfway.
> 
> Water phobia within. Read cautiously if that's a trigger for you.

The fear, Sansa surmised, had first taken root when she was a very small child. She was three, perhaps four years old. A maid had been giving her a bath. Sansa wasn't entirely sure what led up to it, or what had drawn the maid away, but she could recall standing up and then slipping on the copper bottom of the tub. She hadn't even been able to make a noise before she'd slipped under the water. That sensation stayed with her, how she'd tried to scream but her mouth filled with water, how she couldn't draw in a breath. It hadn't lasted long. The maid had scooped her up quickly, no worse for the wear. Still, Sansa never did like water after that. 

Her second traumatic experience with water happened a few years later. It was just several moons before the King and his party was expected. All the Stark children, including Jon and Theon, were at the hot springs in the godswood with some of the other children of Winterfell. Sansa didn't swim, and never had. Instead she chose to sit at the edge of the pool, speaking with Jeyne who was in the water next to her. One moment she was sitting there laughing at something Jeyne had said and the next Arya shoved her from behind and she let out a short scream before the water rushed over her. The darkness completely stole her ability to think, panic surging through her as she kicked ineffectually against the water. Her skirts grew heavy and burdensome, pulling her under and her lungs started to burn with the want for air. Theon ended up being the first to get to her. He swam her to the surface and he and Robb pulled her out. Theon took over smacking her back as she coughed up water while Robb tore into Arya harsher than Sansa had ever heard him before. Arya apologized reluctantly before running back to the castle, mad at both Robb and Sansa. 

The third time was likely the worst, in part because she was already suffering at the hands of Joffrey and the royal family. They were walking along the shoreline of Blackwater Bay. The sun was high in the sky, birds chirping and the waves crashing. In any other situation, it might have been romantic. In her current situation, it was anything but. Joffrey had been mostly ignoring her as he carried on with a group of men from court. Sansa was a few steps behind with two Ladies from court. She couldn't really recall why she'd mentioned it, but one of them asked about the water and Sansa had divulged that she was afraid of water. Joffrey heard, of course, and before she knew what was happening, he was dragging her by the wrist out into the waves. At first she tried to laugh it off, tell Joffrey that he'd gotten her and it was all in good fun, but he was having none of it. He pushed her below the surface, pulling her back occasionally before shoving her under again. He did it again and again, holding her under longer each and every time until Sansa was light headed and gasping for breath, certain the next time she went under would be the last and she'd never breathe again. Cersei was eventually alerted to her sons 'games' and came out to put an end to their 'teasing and tomfoolery'.

Now she was confronted with her fear once again. Sandor Clegane, minus his armor and his brash and crude nature calmed some, had come to her in the Vale. They'd been slowly making their way North for several days. The river rushed before her, although in all honesty it was nothing more than a wide creek. The water seemed to be mostly shallow, but it was rushing rather quickly. Sandor was already on the opposite bank, not having noticed Sansa wasn't following.

"Come on." he shouted to her. "What are you waiting for?"

"I..." she looked up from the rushing water towards him and had to wrap her arms around herself. "I can't."

"Can't?" he repeated and Sansa could almost see the furrow of his brow from the distance between them. He opened his mouth to say more, but something about her stance, how she was mostly curled up on herself and rapidly going pale stopped him. He sighed heavily, the air before him fogging.

"Alright." he nodded. "I'll meet you halfway." he started back across the water, stopping halfway as he said he would. She could see him better now, could see there was no mocking in his expression.

"Let's go." he waved her towards him. "I've come this far. You've got to put in some work, too."

Sansa took a shaky breath, then reached down to heft her skirts up. She carefully stepped one foot into the water and gasped as a coldness that had nothing to do with the freezing water filled her chest. She started breathing hard, her chest seizing up and her body starting to tremble. Still, she forced one foot in front of the other. The current grew stronger the further she went and her panic increased until she forewent holding her skirts and practically ran towards Sandor. He held out a hand as she grew closer and when she was able, she grasped onto it, and then practically threw herself into his side, both arms going around his waist. One hand scrabbled at his front, looking for purchase against his rough spun tunic and worn leather jerkin. She couldn't, though, and Sandor grabbed hold of that flailing hand and held it to his chest.

"Easy, girl." he started moving towards the bank, his other arm wrapped round her shoulders. "I've got you."

He did, Sansa knew. He wasn't a distracted maid or an innocent, albeit rude, sibling, nor was he a cruel and vicious boy king. He was a solid force, a strong sense of security and an earnest vow of protection. By the time they reached the bank, her shaking had subsided and she could breathe a bit more easily. More importantly, she had a sense of pride that she'd managed to make a small amount of progress herself.  


	74. Take mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #73. Take mine.

Sandor was sat at the kitchen table, a cloth spread out before him as he cleaned his guns. He was a bit lost in his occupation only to be brought out of his near trance when the front door opened and Sansa strolled in. He grinned to himself as she huffed loudly, shrugging her coat off and kicking her heels off to the side. As soon as her feet were free, she reached up into her hair and pulled out the clip holding it up. 

"Yes." she hissed softly between her teeth as she rubbed her fingers into her scalp. Sandor felt his blood run a bit warmer and shifted in the hard wooden chair. 

"Rough day?" he asked, alerting her to his attention. Her eyes snapped open and found his. She looked worn out, but she still smiled sweetly at him. 

"I'm sorry." she came towards him, hugging his shoulders from behind and kissing his burnt temple. "I didn't realize you were home already." 

"Half day." he reminded her. "Are you ignoring my question?" 

Sansa sighed again, setting herself in the chair next to him and watching him continue to clean his Ruger. She was silent for a moment, then sighed once more. 

"I don't want you to think I sound like a poor little rich girl." she whispered softly and Sandor looked up from what he was doing. He wanted to wonder where that came from, but in all honesty he'd often thought of her as that. Every time she complained about something to do with her family that seemed trivial to him, he would tease her for being a spoiled rich girl. He felt a bit guilty about that now. 

"I'll withhold my mocking." he promised her with a teasing tone. "Out with it now, girl." 

"It's just that sometimes I absolutely hate being a part of my family. Not that I don't love each and every one of them, even Arya, but I just can't seem to escape the shadow that they cast. Every teacher during primary, every professor during uni. Then it was every interview I went to. Now that I actually have a job, I thought it would end but there were these girls today in the bathroom. They didn't know I was in one of the stalls and they were talking about me. They said I only got the position because of who my father was." she sniffed, wiping a elegant finger under her pretty eye. 

It did seem a bit silly. People were all pricks, and Sandor didn't give a rats ass what most of them thought of him. Sansa, though, wanted everyone to think the best of her. 

"Bitches." Sandor shrugged and went back to cleaning. "They know fuck all about you and how you came to have that job." 

"I know." she smiled weakly at him. "I just sometimes wish that I had a different last name." 

Without thinking it through, without even having his full conscious consent, his mouth was opening and words were coming forth. 

"Take mine." he said, and then froze, hands and eyes still on his gun. He heard a soft intake of air from Sansa and everything seemed to go slowly for a moment. Sandor sat his things down and lifted his eyes to her. She was looking back at him with eyes wide with surprise and a bit of confusion. Her lips moved for a moment, like she was trying to speak, but nothing came out at first. 

"Take your what?" she whispered. "Your last name? Are you...is this you proposing to me?" She sounded equal parts hopeful and horrified and Sandor felt his gut churn unpleasantly while his heart was racing. 

"If you want it to be." he said carefully, watching as her face fell and her eyes shifted away from his. 

"Sandor." she said his name with a hint of disappointment. "I know you, I do, and I adore every single part of you. I know that you aren't an overtly romantic type of guy, and I adore that about you as well, but really." she looked up at him with a brow cocked. "I at least expected you to put some actual effort into the proposal. To actually think about what you were going to say. And to have a ring!" 

Sandor narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, then pushed away from the table abruptly. Sansa blinked up at him with her mouth open before he was walking away towards their bedroom. A couple moments later he came back to the kitchen where Sansa was still sitting, her face in her hands. She looked up at him when he came in. 

"I didn't mean to offend you or upset you, Sandor." she started talking. "I just honestly thou..." she trailed off when he went to his knee in front of her. He took her face in both hands and kissed her until she was grasping his hair and her legs started to wrap around his waist. With some effort, he held her off and pulled away. 

"You're right." he looked up at her from his position a little below her. "I'm not overly romantic, but I know you too Little Bird. I have thought about this. I have planned what I am going to say. You might adore me, but I...I bloody need you, girl. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want you to take my last name. Mostly I want you to agree to take me as your husband." he fished around in his pocket and pulled out the little black leather box he'd been keeping in his nightstand for the last month. Waiting for this moment. 

Sansa took the box with trembling fingers and opened it. She gasped at the sight, her eyes flashing back to his, now filled with tears and happiness. He'd saved up money for over a year for the ring, and spent at least half that amount of time searching for the right ring. Sansa deserved something special. Something that showed he had thought about her when looking for the ring. He didn't want it to be the basic diamond thing every other guy bought their girls. When he saw this ring, he'd known it was the one. It was white gold, a beautiful circular lemon colored diamond surrounded by tiny white diamonds. 

"It's so beautiful, Sandor." she nearly laughed and Sandor took it from her, pulling it from the box and picking up her left hand. 

"So will you?" he asked, holding the ring at the tip of her finger. "Will you marry me? Take this miserable sod for your husband and let me fix the issue of your last name? I promise no one will ever think you were granted privileges with a last name like Clegane." 

Sansa giggled joyfully, eyes sparkling with tears and utter happiness. "Of course, you wonderful man." 


	75. We can share.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #74. We can share. 
> 
> A bit of a steamy continuation of sorts to #19.

The cabins they were staying in were in an outcropping of trees just a short distance from the beach and the rocky ledges which they spent the first day jumping off of. It was nighttime now, everyone hanging out and drinking or so exhausted from day drinking and swimming they were sleeping. It was their last night here before they all returned home and Sansa decided she wanted to spend that last night on the beach. She'd snuck off, grabbing her sleeping bag and a pillow. Now she lay on beach, looking up at the brilliant night sky. She couldn't help but think back to their first day here, when they were all jumping off the cliffs. How Sandor had jumped with her. How when they'd resurfaced there was this bubbling adrenaline fueled excitement that was spilling out of her and she had pulled him closer to her in the water and wrapped herself around him before kissing him. Sandor had froze for all of a millisecond before grabbing onto her and kissing her back. The kiss was hot and rough, tasting of broken restraint and the salt of the sea. But then he'd practically shoved her off of him and the look on his face was so angry it was a shock. 

They hadn't spoken to each other since. 

The crunching of the sand and tiny pebbles under foot alerted her to the fact someone was coming and she sat up, pulling her sleeping bag up around her shoulders since she'd only worn her large sleep shirt and a pair of tiny cotton shorts. With the cool night air it would be rather noticeable that she hadn't worn a bra. Her heart fluttered then sank when Sandor dropped down onto the sand next to her. He wore only his shorts, like he had been all weekend, and his long legs stretched out towards the water. She quickly looked away from him. 

"What are you doing out here all alone?" he asked after a moment and Sansa shrugged her shoulders even though he wasn't looking at her. 

"I suppose I'm saying goodbye to the ocean." 

He snorted at that. "It's not like you won't ever see it again. Your father owns the damn cabins we're staying in." 

"I know." she sighed. "But this trip has been rather eye opening for me." 

"How so?" 

"For one, I've never jumped off the cliffs before. Never even wanted to. I thought I wasn't brave enough, but I did it and I proved to myself that I can be brave. I like being brave, even if it doesn't always get me the results I'd been hoping for." 

There was another stretch of silence and Sansa decided to be brave once again and break it herself. 

"Why are you out here?" she glanced in his direction, the light of the moon illuminating his massive frame. "You haven't said so much as two words to me since we...um, jumped." 

"You haven't said two words to me, either." he pointed out defensively and Sansa could only stare at him with her mouth open in surprise. 

"I kissed you and then you practically ran from me." she reminded him. "I may be a silly little bird at times, as you so enjoy reminding me, but I'm not clueless when someone is rejecting me." 

"Rejecting you?" he barked, head snapping in her direction so he was finally looking at her. The pale light of the moon made the grey of his eyes seem nearly black. "I'm not going to be made a bloody fool of because you got wrapped up in some rush of adrenaline." 

"I wasn't wrapped up in adrenaline." she argued, shoving the sleeping bag down so she could properly use her arms to gesticulate. "I was caught up in the moment. I was taken away by months of longing and wanting coming to a head. I kissed you because I wanted to. I kissed you because I want  _you!_ "

The anger slowly bled from his expression, leaving him looking a little lost. 

"Me?" he questioned. 

"Yes." she smiled now. "You, you fool man." 

He was staring right at her, but he huffed a laugh. "You really are a daft bird, then." 

"Maybe." she laughed lightly. "But you're a bit of a daft dog, you know?" 

"Yeah." he nodded, rubbing at his beard. 

Sansa bit her lip then took a deep breath. "Stay out here with me tonight. Please." 

His eyes went wider, then flashed down to her chest. He licked his bottom lip before looking back at her. "I don't have a sleeping bag." 

Sansa grinned, feeling brave and happy and excited, and opened her sleeping bag some. "We can share." 

They didn't end up zipping the sleeping bag back up. For one, Sandor was just too tall for it and with both their bodies it wouldn't be comfortable to zip it. Another, they were far to busy to sleep any. Instead they spent their last night rocking into each other to the sound of the waves and the light of the moon. It was perfect and wonderful and so bone achingly good. Sansa decided sometime early that morning, as the sun was starting to rise and she was slowly moving over Sandor, watching as his large hands wrapped tightly around her hips, that being brave was by far the smartest thing she'd ever done. 


	76. I was just thinking about you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #75. I was just thinking about you 
> 
> Here be smut, me maties :)

Over the last year, Sansa had lived in the same duplex. It was nice, in a quiet part of town, and just a short drive to both her job and the center of town. About two months after she had moved in, so had her neighbor. At first Sansa was rather frightened of him. He was big and scary looking with his tree sized self and half ruined face. It took a while, but when he heard yelling out in her front yard one night he hadn't hesitated at all to come over and force the arrogant little jerk to leave her alone. With some rather detailed and violent threats, he also made sure Joffrey never came back again. 

Their friendship built slowly from there. Sansa's attraction to him also started growing until now it was nearly consuming and she felt like a big ball of sexual frustration all the time. 

Sandor seemed clueless, but occasionally he would say something, or give her a look and she would think perhaps he wasn't all that clueless. She really wasn't all that subtle when she was checking him out, wondering just what those big rough fingers could do to her. 

Right now she felt like slamming her head into the steering wheel as she pulled up to their shared driveway. The sight before her had her heating up in the already almost too warm temperature outside. Not to mention the things it did between her legs. But, the Mother help her, he had no idea just how achingly sexy he was right now. Due to the warmth outside, he was shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips. Hands and forearms covered in grease and the rest of him in a light sheen of sweat. The music he was playing sounded more like screaming, but it suited him as he worked on his big black motorcycle inside of his open garage. 

Sansa couldn't take this anymore. She felt in real danger of spontaneously combusting. Not to mention she was so wound up around him that just the sight of him had her tingling and wet. 

Shutting off her car with shaking hands, she practically ran inside and locked the front door behind her. Dropping her keys and purse on the sofa, she kicked her heels off and made towards her bedroom. Jerking her shirt and skirt off quickly, she threw herself onto the mattress and shoved a hand beneath her panties. There really was no need to tease herself to get ready, she was already throbbing. 

Damn him, Sansa thought. Damn him and his perfect body and his thrall over her. Her small, smooth and elegant fingers were not what she wanted right now. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to pretend they were larger, rougher. She pictured Sandor, shirtless and sweaty just as he'd been outside, hovering over her. Pressing two fingers inside of herself, she imagined they'd be about as big as one of his. With the size of his hand and the length of his fingers he'd be able to reach places inside of her that she'd only read about in magazines. He'd finger her roughly, so Sansa did the same, reaching her free hand down to rub fast circles over her aching clit. She tried to imagine all the filthy things he'd whisper into her ear, but her mind could only come up with the rasp of his voice calling her Little Bird. 

It was enough. Gasping and moaning, Sansa arched into her own hands, wishing that he was really here and that he could suck and bite at her aching nipples to make it all even more intense. Just the thought had her breaking apart and she keened loudly. 

"Yes!" she gasped. "Oh, gods, yes, Sandor." 

Gentling her fingers, she worked herself down from the high, panting and shivering and feeling sated but still empty. Pulling her hands free of her panties, she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling and the shadows the curtains blowing in the breeze made. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on her back door. Crawling out of bed, she quickly pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and the tank top she normally wore to bed. Padding barefoot into her kitchen where her backdoor was, she wasn't surprised to see Sandor on the other side of the glass French doors. He was the only one that ever used her back door since their yards connected in the back. 

Unlocking the doors, she pulled one open for him. "Hey." she greeted with a smile, noting that he'd washed his hands and arms and pulled on a worn old t shirt. "I was just thinking about you." 

She flushed at her own words, wanting to kick herself for saying that. He had no clue what she was referring to but still, she did. 

"I know." he very nearly growled and Sansa snapped her eyes back to his. He was breathing a little hard, his eyes far more intense then she'd ever seen them. He was looking at her like he knew exactly what she'd been thinking, but there was absolutely no way that he could. 

"What do you mean, you know?" she asked in a whisper, taking a step back as he took a step in and shoved the door closed behind him. 

"Your bedroom window is open." he reminded her and Sansa felt her whole body flush with mortification. 

"Oh Gods." she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. It smelled of her and she simply wanted to melt into the floor. 

"Yeah." he walked further into the kitchen and Sansa moved back as he came towards her, only stopping when her bottom hit the counter. "I heard you say that." he pressed a hand on the counter beside her hips and caged her in. "I heard that and all your sweet little moans and gasps. I heard you singing out as you came, and I heard my name, Little Bird." 

Letting go of the counter with one hand, he pulled hers away from her mouth. Holding her wide eyed gaze with his heavy one, he drew her middle two fingers into his mouth and sucked, tracing the seam between them with the tip of his tongue. Sansa gasped and had to grab onto the counter next to his hand so she didn't fall to the floor. 

"Is that how your cunt tastes?" he asked, pulling her fingers free of his mouth and rubbing them against his bottom lip. "Give me the chance, girl, and I'll find out myself." he stepped closer and pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how hard he was. Without a second thought she pressed her own back into his, shifting side to side so she could feel him better. He groaned, eyes shutting for a second before he dropped her hand and reached behind her to fill his hands with her ass. He squeezed them, pressing her harder into him, and then lifted her up and sat her on the counter behind her. 

"Yes." she panted, grabbing both sides of his face in her hands. "You can find out whatever you want, so long as you kiss me now." 

Not one to pass up an offer like that, Sandor slanted his mouth over hers and proceeded to show her that her fantasies paled in comparison to reality and she'd never been more thankful for having left that bedroom window open. 

 


	77. I want you to have this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #76. I want you to have this.

Things had gone so slow for such a long time while Sansa was playing Alayne in the Vale, it was almost disorienting to have things go so fast now. She had bid her time, played her cards right, and when the moment presented itself, she exposed Petyr for all his devious and manipulative ways. Afterwards she had gone to the Wall with a few of the Knights of the Vale. There she had reunited with Jon and soon after they had taken Winterfell back from the Boltons. 

More people flooded in through the gates as word spread of the coming war. Bran and Arya came home. Theon came back, along with his sister and a small army from Pyke. Jon brought the Dragon Queen to them from Dragonstone and soon the castle was filled with a mismatched group of warriors and fighters that had never seen eye to eye. Northernmen, Black Brothers, Free Folk, Iron Born, Dothraki, men from the Vale and Riverlands, a Brotherhood without Banners, and even a lone Lannister come to redeem himself. 

Another group eventually showed up. One of religious men from the Quiet Isle. Amongst them was Sandor Clegane. Sansa was never able to spend much time with him. Everyone was far too busy doing their jobs, preparing for the coming war. When they were close to each other, or in the same space, her eyes would linger on him, wondering at what had come to pass for the fearsome hound to be wearing the dung robes of brothers. Unlike most of the other brothers, Sandor did speak. His words were clipped and to the point, and he never lingered long on one subject. More than occasionally she had felt him watching her. She'd never caught him, had never tried, but somehow she knew exactly when his eyes were on her, could feel how they lingered and took her in. 

He trained with the soldiers, his fighting more restrained and less wild than it had been at one time. He was more controlled, fought with precision and less anger. The slight limp he had didn't seem to effect him at all, though in truth it worried Sansa greatly. Even though they hadn't talked, not really, she didn't like to imagine him perishing in this war.

Not being a warrior, Sansa took it upon herself to help in other ways. Her and the other Ladies spent long hours sewing, to the point where her fingers bled. She stayed up at night adding layers of rabbit fur to the inside of leather gloves she'd made bigger than most so they would fit Sandor. She made sure to sneak into the armory, and aided by Gendry, she found Sandor's armor and carefully lined every piece with leather so that he would stay warmer. She even added extra padding to his left cuisse. She wanted to give him every chance at surviving, so she did what she could to ensure that.

Another way, the best way she could come up with, presented itself when Samwell Tarly showed up at Winterfell. He had sworn himself to defend Winterfell, and in a show of his allegiance, he gave Sansa his family sword. Heartsbane, he called it. Pure Valyrian steel. He would leave it up to her what warrior she thought most worthy of such a sword. Sansa knew exactly whom that should be. 

The handle and pommel wouldn't do. She vaguely remembered Sandor's distaste for archers, and besides, he wasn't fighting for the Tarly family. He was fighting for her and her family. She knew this just as well as she knew when he was looking at her. She never questioned it.

After giving Gendry the design she had in mind, simple and to the point, nothing too fancy or ostentatious, it only took four days for it to be done. A black wooden handle that would fit his grip nicely. The pommel silver. The cross guard was also silver, each side ending in a roaring wolf head. The rain guard was also the same wolf head.

The evening before the army was set to leave, Sansa found Sandor in the training yard. He wasn't fighting, but was sat along the wall, the torches casting him in shadow. 

"My Lady." he greeted her roughly with a tip of his head. The greys of his eyes caught the firelight and shined almost eerily when he looked up at her. 

"Clegane." she said in return. "I would like for you to come with me, if you please." 

He studied her a moment, then shoved off the bench and motioned with one large hand for her to proceed him. She led him quietly to the armory, taking one of the torches off the wall and leading him to the stand where Gendry had left the sword. Putting the torch in one of the sconces, she tapped the two handed great sword, unwilling to try and lift it herself. 

"What's this, then?" he asked, looking from the sword to her. 

"It's Heartsbane, or that's what the Tarly's had called it." she looked up at him and smiled gently. "It's Valyrian steel." 

His eyes widened a bit, looking back at the sword more closely this time. "Damn useful during a time like this." he said before looking back at her. "Why are you showing it to me?" 

"Sam gave it to me. He asked me to find a soldier worthy of the value it represents." she took a small step closer to him and reached out to take the wrist of his left hand in hers. "I want you to have this." 

"Me?" he nearly barked, then gave a derisive snort. "I'm not some knight or lord of some great house, girl. I'm nobody." 

"You're Sandor Clegane." she reminded him earnestly. "A man who fought his demons and came out the other side. A man who came here, to me, without hesitation or question to fight. I want  _you_ to have this, Sandor. I  _need_ you to take it and fight and survive. We have so very much to talk about when the war is over." 

Sandor swallowed heavily, his throat working beneath the beard that stretched down his neck. He looked away from her, like he couldn't hold her gaze any longer. His eyes went to the sword again, taking it in. Then a smile crooked his lips. 

"I don't remember wolves having anything to do with House Tarly." he looked back at her with his single brow raised. He didn't seem to notice that her hand had slid down from his wrist, or that his fingers now cradled hers gently. Sansa decided it best not to mention. 

"They don't." she smiled brightly. "They're a striding huntsman. But you aren't fighting for any huntsman. You're fighting for wolves." 


	78. Call me if you need anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #77. Call me if you need anything.

_Call me if you need anything._

Sansa was 13 and Sandor was 20 the first time he said it to her. He'd been working for her dad for a little over a year, having taken on the young security guard after Baratheon's had gone under and Robert died. Sansa's mom had been away in the Riverlands visiting her brother and his new wife and Ned had been caught up in a mountain of paperwork. Robb was off on a camping trip with Theon. It was Sansa's first invite to a real, honest to goodness party and she didn't want to miss it. She'd begged and pleaded with her father until finally he dispatched Sandor to drop her off. He hadn't talked to her, and she spent the ride cringing in the corner of the car, too scared of the big and scarred up man to even look directly at him. When they got to the house, Sandor had bent his head down a little to look out the window and scowled at the amount of people spilling out and onto the front lawn. That's when he said it to her. Sansa was too busy looking for Joffrey in the crowd to listen too much. She assured him she wouldn't need to. Two hours later when she called the number he'd given her, crying and terrified after Joffrey had yelled at her, Sandor had picked her up. Sure, he didn't spare her all the 'I told you so's' but he was there when she needed him.

Over the years, countless times, there was different situations where Sandor had given her the same words, and countless times that Sansa had called him. The first time she'd gotten drunk at a party her junior year. When Loras Tyrell had ditched her at senior prom to make out with Renly Baratheon. When she ran out of gas more times than she could remember because she always forgot to fill the tank. It didn't matter the whys, she could always call and he would always answer. When she went away to White Harbor for college sometimes she just called him because she wanted to. When she was bored or sad or nervous or overwhelmed. When she found Harry with his head between the thighs of some other girl in their brand new apartment together, it was Sandor she called before anyone else. He'd helped her move out that evening and gave Harry a black eye.   

It had occurred slowly, the feelings she had for him. For so long she had just been a child and him a tortured man. Over the years, as she grew and matured and he also grew and got help, Sansa started seeing him as so much more. There had never been a chance, a time for them. It seemed they would be nothing more than missed chances. 

It wasn't surprising when Sandor grew out of his position with Ned. It also hadn't surprised Sansa when he moved away. She was proud of him. He'd become his own man, and there was so much the world had to offer him. 

Sansa went with him to the airport. Had smiled cheerfully and offered him her praise in how proud she was of him. Sandor didn't let her ignore the tears she kept blinking away, telling her they were silly and wasted because there was nothing sad about what was happening. He'd given her a terse farewell, and then as he was walking towards his terminal he turned around and had given her such a serious, intense look. 

"Call me if you need anything." 

Of course she had. Almost daily, actually. Most of her phone calls weren't because she needed him, it was just because she wanted to. She wanted to tell him about her day, or to hear about his. She wanted to hear the rasp of his voice when she craved his honesty and his dark humor. It was always a want, and he was always there. 

Then the day came when she did need him. Sansa and her father had never been particularly close. She loved him, of course, just as much as he loved her, but they just didn't understand each other. Not in the way he and Robb did, or even him and Arya. Still, his death had left her shaken to the core. She needed Sandor. 

"Sandor." she had sobbed his name into the phone the second he answered, before he could even say anything. "Sandor, he's...he's gone! I don't understand. I didn't know." her voice was garbled and rushed and Sansa had to swallow another sob. "My dad, he's..." she couldn't get the word to come, couldn't make herself believe it. 

"I know." Sandor didn't need her to say it. "I heard." 

Sansa sniffed, wiping angrily at her eyes. "You said to call if I needed anything. And...and I _need_ you, Sandor. I need you now." 

"Okay." was all he said. Sansa didn't know what that meant. He didn't offer her any gentle words, but she hadn't really expected him to. She wasn't really sure what she expected exactly, but a couple of hours later, in the dead of night when she'd finally drug herself back to her house from her mothers, she'd just thrown her hair in a loose braid and was fixing to wash her cry swollen face before attempting to go to sleep when a knock came at the door. She pulled it open to find Sandor standing there with a duffle at his feet. 

"Sandor?" she blinked, her throat getting thick again. "You..." she broke after that one word, so excruciatingly happy to see him that she was dizzy with the relief that he was actually there. 

"Come here." he stepped inside and pulled her into his chest, one large hand cradling her head while the other rubbed gently between her shoulders. 

When the sobbing subsided, Sansa tilted her head up to look at him. "You're here." she whispered hoarsely. 

Sandor nodded, oddly silent, the hand that had been on the back of her head coming to her cheek to rub at the tear tracks there. "You needed me." 

"I always need you, Sandor." she said, a soft hiccup in the middle. 

An odd look crossed his face, but he gently urged her head back to his chest. "I know." he rasped against her hair. "I know, Little Bird." 


	79. Do you want to come too?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #78. Do you want to come too?
> 
> Gore and smut.

Sansa was sitting against a tree, a brush in her hand trying to work out the tangles in her brown hair. It was slowly starting to fade back to auburn, and Sansa couldn't wait to finally feel completely like herself again. Sandor was just down the small hill where the river was. He'd wanted to bathe and Sansa was giving him as much privacy as she could while still staying close. Not that she minded. Being close to him once again felt similar to coming home. It was safe, warm, comfortable. 

The first thing that alerted her to something amiss was how Stranger began huffing and moving restlessly. He kept pulling at the ties that held him to the tree and his ears were laid back. Sansa looked up in the direction where the horses attention seemed to be. She jumped to her feet as the men approached. There were four of them, each of them looking more starved and desperate as the next. 

"I don't have any money." Sansa tried to tell them, but the man closest to her grabbed her by her shoulders and pushed her into the tree. 

"S'not money we want from eh, girl." his rotten breath spread over her face as he leaned into her. "We'll take yer cunt, and then we'll take that horse of yers and be off." 

Sansa shoved at the man and that's when he slammed her to the tree, a dirty blade held up in front of her face so she could see it. She screamed then, and kept screaming as she tried to fight him off and the others joined in. She screamed Sandor's name as loudly as she could. Seconds later there was an animal like roar, and the man at her throat was ripped off her. Before she could realize what was happening, hot blood sprayed against her chest and face. She blinked several times as the other three men scattered and watched wide eyed as Sandor fought them all. He was shirtless from having been bathing, but he had his ax. One man jumped on his back but Sandor kept fighting like it wasn't a hindrance. He held one man by the back of his head before slamming his own into his face. The man dropped and Sandor swung the ax down, splitting the mans already bleeding face in two. Then he reached behind him and pulled the man off his back. He hit him several times with the handle of the ax before kicking him in the chest, pushing him far enough away that he could swing the ax, spilling the mans guts onto the ground. The last tried to run, but Sandor took his legs. A moment later his screams were silenced when Sandor took his head.

Sandor's back was to her and Sansa stood slowly, watching how his shoulders rose and fell heavily with his breathing. His hand clenched around the handle of the ax several times before he turned around to face her. He was covered in blood. It dripped down his chest and stomach. It smeared his breeches and caught in the crevices of his scars. His muscles were all still tense and coiled, ready for a fight he'd already won. Sansa was frightened for a moment, worried about all the stories she'd heard about soldiers with their blood up and the things they did without a woman's consent, but that wasn't Sandor. Especially not this new Sandor who'd come to her. And that also wasn't her, not now. If he asked for such things, he would have her consent. His eyes, where at once they would have been wild with rage and blood lust, were calm now, watching her. He looked worried, perhaps that he had scared her or maybe he was waiting for the same thing she had been initially.

"You're all covered in blood." she needlessly pointed out, motioning to his body. Sandor glanced down at himself, then back up at her.

"Aye." he nodded. "So are you."

Sansa looked down at her chest and at the blood splattered there. "So I am." she whispered, curious at how she felt. She'd found Sandor attractive a number of times since they'd been together, had dreamed rather scandalous dreams of him during her time as Alayne. Right now, having seen him fighting and killing and looking at his big powerful body covered in blood, Sansa wanted him. Wanted him in a way that surprised her but also felt completely natural.

Looking back up at him, Sansa took a step forward and reached behind herself for the laces of her dress. She held his gaze as she pulled them free, causing the dress to sag about her shoulders and chest.

"I should go to the river to wash." she whispered, turning from him as she pushed the dress down and off, leaving her in a light shift. She started down towards the river, but cast a look at him over her shoulder. "Do you want to come too?"

Sandor was breathing heavier than he had been just after the fight. She could tell from his blood soaked breeches that he was hard. Hard and battle ready like the rest of him. Not that it would be much of a battle.

Without waiting for his answer, Sansa turned and headed the rest of the way down to the river. She stepped in until the water reached her calves and then slowly pulled her shift up and off as she heard Sandor's approaching footsteps. The shift was tossed towards the shore the same time that the heat of his body pressed into the back of hers. Blood stained hands came around her waist and flattened on her belly. They left gruesome trails up her stomach and ribs until they cupped her breasts.

It wasn't exactly how she had imagined her first time being, even if she had imagined it being with him several times. It didn't matter. This was how it was, and even though it was bloody and the water was cold and she was unwed, it was perfect. Something they should sing songs about.

Sansa gladly did.


	80. I'll still be here when you're ready.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #79. I'll still be here when you're ready.

Looking out the window at the looming building, Sandor was finally starting to realize this was really happening. He'd known what he was doing, and he also knew that he needed this. It was for the best, for him, for her, for them. 

Sansa parked the car near the front door and Sandor could feel the apprehension coming off her in waves. He turned in his seat to look at her and she gave him a shaky, watery smile. It made his gut ache and he knew it was more than just the sickness from not having any alcohol in the last few days. He'd be leaving her. He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd be here at the Quiet Isle rehab center, but it wasn't going to be a quick stay. That much he knew. It wasn't as if she couldn't visit him or call him, but she wouldn't be there in bed next to him any longer. 

"This is good, Sandor." she reminded him and he knew she was right. He couldn't keep up like he had been. The drink and the rage that were always inside him was tearing him apart and in turn it was tearing her apart. Sandor knew he couldn't be the man she needed if he continued like that. More importantly, he didn't want to continue like this. He was tired of being drunk and angry, letting his past trauma and torment ruin the new life he'd built. It was time for a change. 

But he would still miss her. A part of him also worried that with him gone, she would realize how much better she could do. That some white knight would come sweeping in and carry her away. 

"Are you going to get sick again?" her gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts and he watched for a moment as she dug in the glove box for the blue bags she'd gotten from the hospital she worked at. 

"No." he caught her wrist to stop her movements and Sansa looked back at him with a worried expression. "You don't have to do that. Not anymore. Like you said, this is good. You don't have to worry about this sick old dog anymore. You're free of that burden now, Little Bird." 

Her perfect brows pulled together in confusion and she tugged her wrist free of his grasp, turning her hand to hold on to his instead. "What is that supposed to mean, Sandor?" 

The fact that she genuinely didn't understand made him angry. "You're obligations to me are finished, girl." he snapped. "You don't have to play nurse to me any longer. Bloody tedious, if you ask me anyway." 

"Stop it." she said firmly, then reached up to cup his burned cheek. "You know that isn't true. You were never an obligation to me." 

Sandor knew that. Damned if he understood it, but he knew she wasn't lying. 

"I'm fucked up, Sansa." he reminded her. "I don't know how long it's going to take for me to not be fucked up anymore. Or if that's even possible. I can't offer you anything right now. I have nothing to promise you. You should take this as your chance to get away from me." 

She was shaking her head before he even finished talking and Sandor would be lying if he said it wasn't a relief to see. 

"Look at me, you silly man." she tipped her head to catch his gaze again. Her hand gripped his forearm and Sandor returned the grip, holding on to her like she was his lifeline in the storm. "I'll still be here when you're ready." 

There was an ease to the raging voice inside of his head, a silence that let him breathe properly whenever she was near. To know that she was going to be there when he was ready, when he could give her everything a girl like her deserved, made it a little easier to say goodbye and get out of the car. 


	81. Is your seatbelt on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #80. Is your seatbelt on?

"Keep your bloody head down, girl!" Sandor shouted at her as they skidded on the icy road. Sansa did as he asked, bending herself in half in the passenger seat while Sandor twisted to the side, looking over his shoulder as he leveled his gun at the car speeding after them and squeezed off a few shots. Shots fired back, cracking the back window, but it didn't slow the Bronco down as they continued speeding down the wintery road. Sansa couldn't help thinking that if they'd been in the North they wouldn't have made it very far. 

Or, given the lift and the size of the tires Sandor had on the Bronco, maybe they would have. 

"They're going to catch us." Sansa nearly cried, peeking up at Sandor's face as he scowled and cursed in anger. 

"No." he spared her a quick look before taking a violent turn left, and it felt as if they were driving on only two wheels for a moment. "They wont." 

The truck suddenly came to a skidding halt and Sansa looked up to see they were at a dead end, only woods before them. She glanced back to see the SUV behind them swerving a little to the right to avoid rear ending them. Her heart skipped and she reached over the console to grab onto Sandor's thigh. 

"Don't let them take me alive, Sandor." she pleaded. "I can't go back alive." 

Sandor tensed all over, his knuckles going white where they held the steering wheel and the gun. Then he let out a roar so loud and unexpected Sansa jumped and nearly screamed. 

"Like bloody hell." he shoved the gun into her hands and then grabbed her face rather roughly. "Is your seatbelt on?" 

Sansa blinked at the rather silly question and had to look down to be sure if it was. "Yes?" she answered, but before she could look back at him he'd let go of her face and gunned the truck. They went flying over rough terrain and swerving around trees and boulders. At first Sansa sat white knuckling the sides of her seat, the gun now in the floorboard, but after the third snow drift they busted through, she couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped. There was no way the men following them could get through all this in their fancy SUVs. Sandor's big old yellow Bronco was barely managing it, but still they kept going.

They only had to get North, she only had to get home, and then they would be safe. Free of overbearing bosses and possessive boyfriends. Free of abuse and pain. Free to be more than a dog and a caged bird. Once home, they could finally, truly start living. And if Sansa had it her way, that would be together. 


	82. Sweet dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #81. Sweet dreams. 
> 
> Vague smuttiness.

The dreams had started once the loneliness of her situation set in. Sansa had thought perhaps she would dream of snow, of the Godswood, of Lady. She did, of course. She dreamt of all of that, and her family. But those were normal dreams. When she fell asleep and those things filled her mind, Sansa knew it wasn't real. It didn't feel real. It felt as if dreams felt and shortly faded when she awoken. 

These dreams, these didn't feel like dreams. They felt real. Here she could feel the chill of the wind. She could feel the spray of the ocean against her face and smell the salt. Here, in this place of jagged rocks and crashing waves, the stars in the sky were brilliantly visible and she was never alone.

At first she hadn't known who he was. They didn't speak to each other. They merely sat and looked at the sky. He wore a cowl over his head and face, but Sansa got the feeling she knew him. His size, his presence, even the smell of him was familiar. It only took her two dreams to know who he was, though why she dreamed of Sandor Clegane in this place wearing the robes of religious men, she wasn't sure. Nor did she know why it felt so real and so right.

Sansa was the one who started the conversations between them. They never spoke of reality. They spoke of their hopes and their dreams. Sansa told him how she longed for the North. How she wanted to avenge her family and that one day she would bear children that would look like her brothers, and perhaps a girl that looked like her sister. In turn Sandor spoke of releasing his anger, how he no longer felt driven to kill his brother. He spoke of wanting to do something more with his newly given life than killing.

A fortnight passed where Sansa dreamed nothing other than him and that place. Sandor had told her he was in a place called the Quiet Isle, which confused Sansa that she would dream of a place she'd never been to or cared that much to know about. During her waking hours, Sansa sneaked looks at Petyr's maps and found that it wasn't very far away from where she was. Mayhaps that's why she dreamt of it, because it was so close. But Sandor Clegane was either dead or, if tales were to be believed, he was raping and murdering in the Saltpans.

The craving for him and their time together came upon her gently and calmly. She found herself going to bed earlier and earlier just so she could have more time with him. The distance between them on the rocks diminished as did her sense of propriety. She was pretending to be a bastard, and these were just dreams after all. Both of which gave her the bravery to do what she had been thinking of the last few nights.

"Would you mind it very much if I touched you?" Sansa asked the moment she joined him on the night washed rocks. His cowl was no longer up, and hadn't been for some nights, so she could clearly see his shocked expression when he turned to look at her. It quickly morphed into one of dry amusement that matched his dark chuckle.

"Even in dreams you're a polite little bird." he shifted his body further to face her, grey eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Don't know why it's taken so long to get to here." he reached out with one large hand and grabbed her wrist, bringing it to the good side of his face. Sansa gasped, shocked at how real it felt. The warmth of his skin, the stubble of his jawline. Her thumb gently caressed his sharp cheekbone.

"Get to where?" she whispered, breathing steaming in front of her.

His eyes closed on a sigh. "Things really have fucking changed. Thought I'd be balls deep inside you the second you showed up in my dreams. None of these sweet touches." his eyes opened and he smirked at the way she was breathing harder. "Always thought if I dreamed of you I'd be fucking you within moments."

"I always thought when I dreamed of you it would be you saving me again." she smiled and caressed his cheek firmly, letting her fingers trail down to his lips. "I thought perhaps you would climbed the tower of the Moons Gate and spirit me away into the night."

He laughed at that and Sansa couldn't stop the wide smile spreading across her face. It was so good to hear him laugh. He reached out to her then, wrapping large hands around her waist and pulling her until she was sitting in his lap. Then his own hands were on her face, mapping out the angles of her bones.

"Doubt I could climb with my bloody leg." he mumbled, watching his fingers on her face. "But I suppose I can still fuck in a dream." his eyes darted to hers again. "If you want that."

Sansa hesitated. She thought her first time would be with her husband on their wedding night. It would be a gentle seduction with honeyed words and shy touches. But, this wasn't really her first time. This was only a dream, and she would be lying if she told herself it wasn't a thrilling thought.

"Yes." she whispered before boldly leaning in to kiss him. "Yes, please."

None of it felt like a dream. It felt raw and real. The rocks beneath her scraping her back. Sandor's hands, rough and large squeezing her to the point of pain but not quite. The sweet, burning sensation of him filling her. The heat of his breath against her neck and ear. The rasping of his voice whispering her harsh promises and rough words of apology. The stars seemed brighter over his shoulder when her peak washed over her. His body seemed to shake and vibrate beneath her fingers and over her body when he came with _"Little Bird. Little Bird. Little Bird."_ spilling from his lips.

Sansa held him tightly to her, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and his face buried into her throat. She smiled, letting her eyes flutter closed.

"Sweet dreams." she whispered and Sandor grunted in agreement.

"Aye." he rose up on his elbows but Sansa didn't open her eyes quite yet. "The sweetest."

The next time she opened her eyes, it was to see the rafters above her bed. Her night dress was askew, her woman's place throbbed, and her skin was pleasantly flushed and tingly. She was a bit disappointed that it was over, but a smile still split her face. That smile shifted quickly to a frightened frown when she rose from bed and her undergarments were smeared with a tinge of blood that could not have been her moons blood.  

A senight passed and she no longer dreamed of Sandor and their place along the rocky shore. She went to bed hoping every night that she would, but he never came to her again. One evening Petyr announced they would be having guests for a few nights. A group of religious brothers were traveling North. They needed a place to rest until they were fit enough to move on. Sansa went to the kitchens and found a few loaves of bread and a pitcher of wine. Gathering it onto a trey she brought it to the room where the Brothers were waiting. Keeping her head down, knowing they couldn't talk, she sat the trey on the center of the table and then glanced around at all of them with a polite smile. She nodded her head in farewell, and then turned to leave but pulled up short when another of the Brothers stepped into the room, having to duck his head a bit. Her jaw dropped as he pushed the cowl away from his face. He stared down at her, his face a mask, and then took another step towards her with a slight limp.

"Sweet dreams." she whispered to herself. His eyes went wide and his jaw muscle feathered. His head cocked to the side a little and then a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

"The sweetest." he agreed.  


	83. I was in the neighborhood.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #82. I was in the neighborhood.

The wind was blowing so hard outside that the windows in Sansa's brownstone were rattling. Even with the well insulated house and working central heat, Sansa still wrapped her heavy cable knit cardigan around herself while she sipped a cup of hot chocolate. On the TV was another episode of some HGTV show that she was only half watching. Her attention kept being diverted to her window where she would get lost in the swirling whiteness of the blizzard that was currently raging outside. 

Jon had called earlier to warn her of the impending storm, but she hadn't heeded his words. It was Chicago after all. She was used to snow. Now she was unfortunately stuck at home with very little to eat and no back up plan if the electricity went out. She had a fire place, but no fire wood. Generally she was just crossing her fingers and hoping that it didn't go out and this storm ended quickly. 

After finishing her mug of cocoa, Sansa padded into the kitchen in her thick fuzzy socks to rinse it out. She was just placing it in the dishwasher when her doorbell rang. For a moment she just stood in the kitchen and wondered if she'd heard something on the TV instead of in reality, but then someone knocked on the door. Confused and wondering who in the world it could be, she went to the door and peeked through the curtains on the side windows to see Sandor stood on her stoop. She quickly unlatched the locks and pulled the door open. 

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked loudly over the howl of the wind as she reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside at the same time. 

Sandor pulled his stocking cap off, brushing snow off his beard and stomping his caked boots on her mat and setting down several bags that he had in his hands. Sansa took his coat from him while he unwound the scarf from around his neck and hung both on the hooks next to hers. When he was fully freed of his winter gear, he finally looked at her. They were still in the entryway and he shifted from foot to foot for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"I was in the neighborhood." 

That had Sansa laughing. "You just happened to be on the complete opposite side of town that you live, casually walking around in the middle of a blizzard." 

"No." he snorted, reaching down to grab the bags he'd dropped. "You didn't prepare for the storm, did you?" 

With a blush, Sansa turned around and led him into the living room. "Maybe not, but the storm wont last forever. I'll be fine." 

"You and your damn bird brain." he veered off towards the kitchen so Sansa followed. He sat the bags on her small island and started unpacking them. There was bread, milk, lunch meat, bottled water, a box of cereal, cans of soup, crackers, a pack of batteries and a lantern, and the last thing he pulled out was a box of lemon cakes from her favorite bakery. 

"You gonna help me put them up, or is that on me as well?" he taunted and Sansa rolled her eyes before stepping in to help put things away. 

"So." she said after putting the cereal in the cabinet. "You just happened to be in the neighborhood in the middle of a blizzard with bags of groceries." she cast him a look after he'd shoved the waters in the cabinet under the sink. 

He stood and rolled his shoulders before turning to face her. "My apartments got shitty insulation and the radiator's been out for the past week. This dog was looking for a warm place to bed down. You're the only person I know that's rich enough to afford one of these fancy and warm Brownstones." 

Sansa giggled with a roll of her eyes, knowing full well that wasn't the truth. Or at least not the entirety of it. As much as he would argue it, Sandor often played the roll of her Knight in (not quite) shinning armor. He was worried about her during the storm. Obviously it wasn't in the words he said, but in the actions he did. Which, in Sansa's opinion, was far better. 

"Let's just hope we don't lose power." she purposefully brushed against him as she passed to go back into the living room. "We might just have to snuggle for warmth then." 

"Hope we don't?" he caught her around the waist before she could get too far and pressed his front to her back, his lips right next to her ear. "Or hope we do?" 


	84. Stay there. I'm coming to get you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #83. Stay there. I'm coming to get you.
> 
> Drunken Hound chaos.

It was nearing 1:30 in the morning when Sansa's phone went off. She would have just silenced it and went back to sleep if she hadn't noticed who was calling her. Sluggish with sleep, she grabbed the phone off her nightstand and rolled onto her back. 

"Sandor?" she answered in a groggy voice. "Is everything okay?" 

It had been a month since she'd seen or heard from Sandor Clegane. After she'd left Joffrey there hadn't been reason to see him anymore. 

"'M a fuckin' idiot." was his slurred response, followed by some more unintelligible mumbling that she couldn't quite make out. 

"Sandor." she said his name firmly to stop his drunken nonsense. Sitting up, she rubbed her eye with her free hand. "It's super late. Or early. Is there actually a reason why you're calling me?" 

"Fucked up, Little Bird." he sighed. "Shoulda killed the little bastard for touchin' you. 'M sorry. A sorry fuckin' dog." 

The self loathing in his tone, they way he was speaking immediately put Sansa on high alert. She'd seen him drunk before. Often, actually. His demeanor always worried her when he was like that. 

"Hey, stop that." she said gently. "Where are you? You aren't with Joffrey, are you?" If Joffrey heard him say the things he'd just said, Sansa was sure he'd have Sandor beaten if not killed outright. 

"Piss on that Lannister cunt." he snarled. "'S not my problem anymore." 

"Okay." she kept her voice even and calming, not wanting to agitate him any more than he currently was. "Where are you, then?" 

After a few minutes of coaxing and listening to more self loathing curses, Sansa finally got the name of some bar out of him.

"Stay there." she urged, moving around her bedroom to slip on her shoes. "I'm coming to get you."

He didn't argue, but also didn't agree. She couldn't really understand what all he said, but then he was shouting curse words at what Sansa assumed were other bar patrons and hung up on her. Worried that he would leave, try to drive, or get into some sort of fight and get arrested. Still wearing her pajama bottoms and tank top, she grabbed her car keys and typed the name of the bar into her GPS. It took her to a shady part of town to some seedy looking bar. There wasn't even a proper marquee, only a buzzing red neon sign that said _BAR_ above the heavy metal door. Clutching her phone and her wallet in her hand, Sansa yanked the door open and stepped inside. It was still fairly full for being close to closing time and the lighting was very poor, but she found Sandor easily. He was sitting at the end of the bar, head resting in one hand while the other was wrapped around an empty pint glass. Ignoring the leers and catcalls around her, she picked her way to where he was and tapped his shoulder.

"Fuck off." he slurred without lifting his head.

"Sandor." she sighed gently, cupping his big shoulder with one hand. His body jerked and then stiffened. His head lifted slowly before turning to look at her with blood shot eyes.

"What're you doin' here?" he asked, then his eyes tracked down her body before flying back to hers. He looked both turned on and angry. "An' what the hell are you wearin', girl?" he demanded, sliding off his stool and jerking his button up shirt off, leaving him in a plain white t. "Gods, woman. You can't come in here like that."

"Like what?" she asked. Sure, she was in pajamas, but she honestly didn't see what was so wrong with her pale pink tank top and matching pink and red plaid pajama pants.

"With no bra and your pretty little tits showin' through your shirt." he rasped before wrapping his shirt over her shoulders. He swayed where he stood while his fingers fumbled with the snap buttons, trying to cover her completely. Sansa couldn't help but giggle. Pushing her arms through the too large shirt, she pushed the sleeves up and grabbed his wrists.

"Sandor." she stopped his useless fumbling. "Come on." she tugged towards the door. "Let's go."

As docile as she's ever seen him, Sandor nodded and pulled his wrists away, but surprised her by grabbing her hand in his and holding it while they left the bar. Silently she led him to her car and he pushed her away when she tried to open the door for him.

"Are you still staying at the Lannister's?" she asked once she'd started the car and pulled out onto the road.

"No." he said on a deep breath, tilting his head back onto the headrest and falling silent again.

"Where am I going then?" she asked, reaching over to poke his side so he didn't pass out on her just yet.

"Stop it." he grabbed her finger with quicker reflexes than a man as inebriated as him should possess. "The trailer park off the highway. Fourth lot on the left."

He kept hold of her finger, pulling it onto his stomach while he seemingly passed out then. Sansa had a million and one questions, but she knew that right now she wouldn't be getting any solid or coherent answers from him. Instead, she drove silently to the trailer park he'd indicated and counted the lots until she pulled up in front of a camper trailer.

"Hey." she nudged him a few times until he roused, seeming more drunk now than he had been at the bar. He didn't complain this time when she opened his door and helped steady him to the makeshift front porch. After he failed at getting the key in, she took over and unlocked the door for him. The trailer was incredibly clean, but it seemed to shrink to a tiny size with Sandor inside.   

"This is where you're staying now?" she asked, looking around while he braced a hand on the sink and kicked his shoes off. She hadn't really expected an answer. 

"'S Bronn's." stumbled towards the built in fridge and jerked it open. "Temporary 'till I get my own place. And job." he pulled out a bottle of water and downed it all in one go. 

"Come on." she urged him up to the bedroom section of the trailer and pushed him easily onto the bed. "I'm going home now." she whispered to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his hair away from his scars. He grunted in response, but did lean into her touch. 

"I want you to call me tomorrow." she continued whispering. "I have a lot of questions for you, Mr. Clegane." 

"Forgive me." he surprised her by saying clearly and when she looked down at him, his eyes were staring right up at her. 

"Everyone gets a little too drunk sometimes." she smiled at him and he shook his head, reaching up and pressing her palm into his cheek. 

"Forgive me for failing you, Little Bird." 

Tears suddenly sprang into her eyes and she had to swallow around the lump in her throat a few times before she could speak. 

"There's nothing to forgive." she assured him in a shaky voice. "But if that's what you need, then yes Sandor, I forgive you. A million times over, I forgive you." 


	85. The key is under the mat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #84. The key is under the mat. 
> 
> Missing scene from Sorry I'm Late. A bit of Sandy and Elias bonding.

_Little Bird: Help me! I'm hungry!_

_Sandy Man: What's new? You're always hungry._

_Little Bird: Jerk. The doctor said it was normal._

_Sandy Man: uh huh. Blame it all on breastfeeding._

_Little Bird: I will! I'm starved all the time and so is Elias. We must eat constantly. But I have no food :(_

_Sandy Man: Where's your mom?_

_Little Bird: Sent her home a couple days ago. Come rescue this hungry little bird and her screaming baby bird, please._

Before Sandor had even finished texting Sansa, he was up and putting his boots on. Grabbing his truck keys, he headed down to the nearest grocery store and picked up a bunch of easy to eat foods since Sansa likely wouldn't have time to really sit and eat a proper meal. Chips, precut fruit and veggies, already made sub sandwiches, a case of water, a couple of things of her favorite lemon bars, and a box of that disgusting all bran cereal she ate. Hauling it all back to her house, Sandor trudged up the steps and started to knock, but stopped when he saw the sign taped to the door. 

**Sleeping newborn inside. _Do not knock or ring bell!_ If you wake him, you can take him :) **

Trying the door only to find it locked, he sat down the bags and pulled out his phone. 

_Sandy Man: I'm outside. Open up._

_Little Bird: Elias finally fell asleep on me. I don't want to get up and wake him._

_Sandy Man: I brought food._

_Little Bird: The key is under the mat._

Sitting down his load of bags, Sandor kicked her overly bright welcome mat to the side and picked up the key resting under it. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the door and made his way inside, going straight to the kitchen and sitting down the bags on the island. He'd just sat the case of water down when a high pitched cry broke the silence of the house and Sandor winced. 

"Oh, no." Sansa sobbed along with the crying and Sandor looked out into the living room to see her pull herself up from the sofa, gently bouncing the flailing and screaming baby. 

"Did I do that?" he asked. 

"I don't know." she sniffed and Sandor really looked at her. She was wearing the same shirt and sleep pants that she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her, three days ago. Her hair was clearly unwashed and judging from the dark circles under her eyes, she hadn't slept all that much lately. "He just cries. All the time." 

Sandor had never really been around kids. Especially not three week old babies like Elias. It wasn't that he was opposed to kids or didn't like them. He'd just never known anyone with kids. Not until a newly pregnant Sansa moved in next door to him roughly nine months ago. What he did know was that Sansa was on the verge of loosing it. He wanted to call her stupid for letting her mom go home, but he knew that wouldn't help anything now. Only make her feel worse. Not to mention he knew that Sansa was determined to prove to the world that she could do this without Harry's help. Not for the first time, or likely the last, Sandor wished he had punched that fucker hard enough to break his stupid face when he showed up here shortly after Sansa told him she was pregnant. 

No matter what she said or wanted, Sansa needed help. But Harry wasn't here. Neither was Catelyn or Arya or Jeyne. There was only Sandor. 

"Here." he moved into the living room to the crying pair and held out his hands for Sansa to give him the baby. "Let me take him." 

"Okay." she sniffed and without hesitation, handed him the squealing babe. It surprised him, how trusting Sansa always was of him. 

Awkwardly holding the squirming boy, Sandor scowled down at his twisted up and beet red face. He really didn't look that cute at all at the moment. 

"I got him." Sandor tipped his head towards the hallway, where the bathroom was. "Go take a shower. Then eat." 

"Are you sure?" she asked, already moving towards the hall. 

Sandor nodded, picking up Sansa's back and forth swaying motion as he held the boy out in front of him. He was so tiny. His head fit in the palm of one of Sandor's hands and his fitful little body didn't even span the length of his forearm. 

"Hey now." Sandor tried to keep his voice soothing, the way Sansa spoke to him, but it came out all low and raspy. "That's quite enough of all that shit." he winced a little at the curse word and checked to make sure Sansa was really gone. 

She was. 

The baby stopped screaming and instantly started turning his head side to side, trying to figure out where this voice so different from his mothers was coming from. 

"There." Sandor gave a sharp nod of his head. "That's better. You were starting to give me a damn headache." 

Moving to the sofa, Sandor sat down and carefully lay the baby on his legs, bouncing them a little to keep him soothed. 

"Poor little shit." he sighed as he looked at the boys now content face, only the occasional shaky indrawn breath. He looked nothing like Sansa and everything like Harry. That didn't seem to matter to Sansa at all, though. She loved him completely. 

"You know, you could take it a little easier on your mom." he went on, realizing that the boy was more content when Sandor talked. The baby inhaled deeply and let out a little whimper when he let it out and the noise was so cute that Sandor actually smiled. 

"You aren't so bad, you know." he told him, watching as his eyes slowly blinked shut and stayed that way. Sandor kept bouncing his legs gently. When Sansa came out of the bathroom, the door shutting caused the baby to jump in his sleep, one little hand flailing out to his side. 

"Sh." Sandor hushed, quickly letting the boy grip his finger to help steady him. He fell right back to sleep, but something about the action, about how his tiny little chubby fingers were wrapped so tightly around Sandor's, had something shifting in Sandor's chest. He realized in that moment, looking down at those small fingers wrapped around his one large one, why parents loved their kids so immediately. In that moment, Sandor knew he would do damn near anything to make sure this tiny boy that wasn't even his own was safe and cared for. 

"That's it, Eli boy." Sandor grinned to himself. "I've got you." 

 


	86. It doesn't bother me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #85. It doesn't bother me. 
> 
> A bit steamy.

When Sansa had thought of having sex with Sandor, and she had thought of it often, she always imagined that it would be rough and dirty. There were many things she thought he might do. Tossing her on a bed and ravishing her, slamming her against a wall to take her, hands gripping her to an almost bruising tightness, teeth leaving marks on her pale skin. 

The reality had been much different. 

Sansa wasn't a vastly experienced person when it came to sex. Theon Greyjoy and Willas Tyrell were her only previous partners. Only the one time with Theon, a silly whim to lose her virginity before going off to college, but very much cherished. Willas had been her college boyfriend, but what she felt for Sandor caused her feelings for Will to pale in comparison. 

That said, Sansa had fully expected Sandor to be the more experienced of the two of them. It was surprising to her to find out differently. 

"Sandor." she gasped his name while she tossed a leg over his waist so she was straddling his lap. It was a more comfortable position to carry on their current make out session. 

"What're you doing, Little Bird?" he rasped, hands awkwardly holding onto her waist. 

"Kissing you." she smiled against his lips, then did a slow roll of her hips, hoping perhaps that would break him and he would finally grasp her hips the way she'd expected him to. 

" _Fuck._ " he breathed out unevenly, hands fluttering away from her waist, but not ending up on her hips at all. She thought perhaps he was clutching the cushions on either side of his hips. 

"Would you like to?" she asked, trying to be playful and coy, pulling back from him so she could look at him properly. 

"Like to what?" he asked, eyes flitting around her face and lingering on her swollen lips. 

Sansa giggled, rubbing herself over him once again. His jaw clinched tightly, lips pulling back from his teeth slightly with a hiss. "What you said." she teased, running her hands up his tense chest muscles. "Would you like to? Fu...um, have sex?" 

"Oh gods." he breathed out, but instead of looking more turned on, the color promptly drained from his face and he suddenly looked something close to scared. He quickly masked it by firming his shoulders and pulling that emotionless mask back into place that he wore so often. 

"That's a bad idea, girl." he looked over her shoulder for a moment, the burnt corner of his lips twitching and Sansa felt her heart sink, the heat that had been simmering inside of her doused so quickly she half expected steam to come from her ears. 

"What?" she whispered in confusion, catching herself on the back of the sofa when he pushed her off his lap and stood. She quickly stood up and straightened her clothing while he paced on the opposite side of the coffee table. 

"You should go." he motioned towards his front door. "Get the fuck out, find yourself someone...someone pretty that can give you the sweet words you're looking for." 

"I'm not looking for sweet words." she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't understand what's happening. I thought things were going well. I thought...I thought you wanted me." 

Sandor spun on her then, piercing her with an intense look. "Don't be stupid." 

"Stop calling me stupid!" she nearly shouted. "You promised you'd never call me that again." 

Sighing deeply, Sandor raked a hand over his face. "I know. But be serious, Sansa." he motioned to where he was still tenting his jeans. "Of course I want you." 

"Then what's wrong?" she cried, feeling confused and a little like pulling out her hair. 

"I..." he paused, then looked back at the couch instead of at her. "I haven't ever done this, alright?" he looked back at her, eyeing her like he was waiting for her to laugh. But Sansa didn't laugh. She felt her mouth pop open in surprise, her mind swirling while she tried to take in what he was saying. 

"Done, what exactly?" she asked. 

"Sex." he growled. "I'm a fucking virgin. A thirty five year old virgin, so laugh it the fuck up." 

Sansa immediately started shaking her head. "I'm not laughing." she assured him. "I just...why?" 

"Why?" he barked a laugh, then strode over to her, turning his head to the side so his scars were in her face. "This is why. It's not like I have a winning personality either. I never wanted a pity fuck or to be a dare some skank was set up on."

"But...but look at you!" she motioned towards his body. "Sandor, you're so gorgeous. Scars and all, you're like the dark antihero out of every girls bad boy fantasy. And you might be a bad boy, but you are a good man. It's hard for me to imagine no other woman saw that."

"Women have tried." he admitted. "I just couldn't bring myself to look past their initial disgust of my face."

Sansa flushed with guilt when she recalled her own initial disgust of his face and she looked down, unable to look into his eyes any longer. "I am sorry, Sandor. I was just a naïve young girl that still believed looks matched someone's insides. You helped me see the fault in those beliefs and I thought you'd forgiven me." 

"I have." he said quickly, then sighed in frustration at himself. "It isn't that. I just have no fucking clue what I'm doing." 

"I can help you." she offered gently, meeting his gaze again. "If you'd like." 

"How can that possibly be a turn on for you?" he asked and Sansa realized everything she'd thought having sex with Sandor would be like was being flipped on its head, but she honestly didn't mind. "Having some green boy fumble around on your body." 

"It doesn't bother me." she assured him with a smile. Drudging up her courage, she stripped off her shirt and then held his eyes while she reached behind herself to unhook her bra. Tossing it to the side, she felt a rush of pride and affection when Sandor's eyes flicked down to her breasts, mouth parting on a rush of air. 

"I'll show you what I like." she stepped towards him and took his hand in hers. Kissing his rough palm, she pressed it to her collarbone. "And you can show me what you like. Together, we might even figure out the perfect way to make the other come undone." 


	87. You're important too.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #86. You're important too.

Winterfell was holding up fairly well against the onslaught of the Long Night. The fighting had driven the armies back from the Wall and now the battles were taking place in the open fields that surrounded the castle. As of yet the walls hadn't been penetrated, but they were prepared for any eventuality. A week before Sansa had seen to the evacuation of the children and those unable to fight to Riverrun, but she herself had stayed. When Jon and the armies had arrived at Winterfell, he had been furious with her. But Sansa would never leave Winterfell again. This was her home, a place she had fought for years to return to, and she wasn't going to leave it now. She'd rather die here. 

"Stay back from the windows." a rasping voice said from just behind her, somewhere in the dark of her chambers. Sansa turned from the latched window and found the massive figure in the shadows. 

"Things seem quiet at the moment." she responded, glancing out once again at the frozen darkness and the eerie silence. 

"Regrouping." Sandor told her, and then she heard the familiar subtle step-drag of his limp as he approached closer. "Not necessarily a good thing." 

"True." Sansa agreed and stepped back away from the windows as a shiver of fear raced up her spine at the thought of being watched by those undead blue eyes. 

"You're cold." he said needlessly. Of course she was cold. They were on the very last bit of fire wood, were now burning furniture and unneeded clothing. Sansa had forwent a fire in her chambers. The soldiers out there fighting were in greater need of the warmth of the fires. She would be just fine. 

She jumped slightly when a heavy fur cloak dropped around her shoulders. Immediately she was surrounded by the smell that always surrounded Sandor Clegane. 

"You will need this more than I." she tried to decline, but only managed to get the cloak off one shoulder before he was pushing it back on her. 

"It'll do no bloody good for you to freeze up here in your tower." he grumbled. "When this whole fucking war is over the North will need you. You're too important to die. You're better alive, as a ruler, not a martyr."

With a shake of her head, Sansa turned her body to fully face him, reaching out to grasp the icy metal of his armored arms. "You're important too." she reminded him. "Don't forget that."

He huffed, but Sansa could see how his eyes had widened a fraction in surprise. She could just make out how he searched her face for a silent moment.

"A dog is no more important than the next one willing to die for it's master."

"That's untrue." she smiled sadly. "For one, you are no longer the Hound. You have no master, not now. You are your own man. And that man, this Sandor Clegane, is very important to me."  


	88. I saved you a seat.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #87. I saved you a seat. 
> 
> Set in the same universe as #63. Kid!Sandor and Kid!Sansa.

Sandor had thought about not coming. It was the first day of summer vacation. The last thing he wanted to do was go spend an evening with the kids he went to school with. It wasn't like he was friends with any of them. Sansa had asked him to come on their last day down at the river together even though it was her older brother Robb that he was in class with. Mrs. Stark was hosting an outdoor movie night for what seemed like the entire school. It seemed stupid to Sandor. Who wanted to sit in their backyard getting bitten by bugs eating stale popcorn and watching a crappy Disney movie? Sandor could just imagine Gregor making fun of the type of people that did that. 

Gregor was actually the motivating force that made Sandor decide to go. Their mom was working the night shift and their dad had already passed out drunk, which meant Sandor would be alone with Gregor. Never a good thing. So Sandor slipped on his cleanest jeans and headed over to the Stark's place on the other side of the river. 

Finding their house was fairly simple. It was the mansion sized one with all the cars parked out front. Smoothing his hair more firmly over his scars, Sandor dipped his head and made his way into the backyard. It all looked like something out of a magazine. There was a huge white sheet that looked the size of several king sized sheets sewn together strung up in the trees. A snack bar was set up off to the side with popcorn and candy and drinks. Pillows and blankets were spread out all over the yard, with a couple rows of lawn chairs set up behind them. Kids were running everywhere, some Sandor recognized but none that would attempt to talk to him. Some even changed direction when they saw him standing there. He thought maybe he should just go. Surely Sansa wouldn't want to be embarrassed by hanging out with him when everyone was here. She did sit with him at lunch every day, but that seemed different somehow. Not to mention he couldn't imagine her wanting to introduce him to her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Stark were everything parents should be and nothing like his own. No way they'd want their little princess hanging around with a boy from the wrong side of the river. 

"Excuse me." a man tapped him on the shoulder and Sandor was already waiting for him to tell Sandor to get out. Steeling himself, Sandor turned to face the man. "You must be Sandor Clegane, yes?" 

"Yeah." Sandor kept his head down to help hide his scars and dug the toe of his worn sneaker into the ground. 

"My Sansa goes on about you." the man surprised him by saying. "I was hoping you'd make it." 

Glancing up without fully lifting his face, Sandor eyed the older man. He wasn't smiling at Sandor, but his face was kind. He remembered how Gregor had mocked people for respecting elders for no other reason then they were older. 

"It's nice to meet you, ser." Sandor mumbled, turning Gregor's mocking into a honest remark. 

"You too, son." he patted Sandor's shoulder and then pointed off towards the blankets. "Sansa is out there towards the front. Be sure to get yourself some popcorn. Catelyn just put out a fresh batch." 

Sandor nodded, but didn't go for the popcorn. Instead he picked his way between the blankets and pillows and kids, trying to find Sansa. 

"Sandor!" her redhead popped up and she started jumping in place, one hand waving him down while she smiled in joy. Sandor lifted a hand to let her know he saw her and made his way to where she was. 

"I'm so glad you came." she gushed, reaching out and grasping one of his hands between both of hers. "Did you get some popcorn? Or a drink? Mother made the best lemonade ever. You must try some." 

"Not right now." he pulled his hand free of hers. "Thanks, though." 

"Well, alright." she pouted a bit. "It is very good, though. Here." she motioned towards the blanket she'd been sitting on. "I saved you a seat." 

Folding his long legs up, Sandor sat down where she'd instructed and a second later Sansa was making herself comfortable next to him. 

"What are we watching?" Sandor asked after Mrs. Stark instructed everyone to find a seat and get quiet because the movie was about to start. "Not some stupid princess movie, is it?" 

"No." she giggled softly and nudged him with her shoulder. "It's Shrek." 

That wouldn't be so bad, Sandor thought. He actually sort of liked Shrek. And the little girl next to him had saved him a seat. No one else. Just him.  


	89. I'll see you later.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #88. I'll see you later. 
> 
> The morning after.

Sansa was not one for one night stands. Neither was she one for having sex with someone without being in at least a semi serious relationship. Honestly, she had no idea what got into her last night. Part of her wished she could blame it on being far too drunk, but she'd only had two glasses of wine. In reality it was just him. She'd never once felt that immediate attraction and connection to another person. Especially not someone like Sandor Clegane. He was so very far and away from anything she was used to.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was finally stepping out of what was expected of her and becoming who she really was. That made her happy, although she'd rather not make it a habit of having one night stands with men she'd only known for a night. Still, she didn't regret what had happened between them at all.

The problem came in the morning after etiquette. Sansa really had no idea what the protocol was. Sandor was still sleeping next to her. He was on his back, one arm under her neck and the other curled up over his head. Like her, he was still naked from last night but the dark grey sheets on his bed were thrown haphazardly over more intimate parts. Intimate parts that she'd become very familiar with last night. The thought caused her to smile while she tried to stay still on her side so she didn't wake him.

Was she supposed to slip out of the covers and leave before he woke up? Maybe she wasn't even supposed to stay the night, but after that last round of sex Sandor had collapsed onto the bed and one heavily muscled arm had anchored her to his side. Did she wake him and say goodbye? Did he want to see her before she left? Should she leave her phone number on the nightstand? Did he want to see her again after this, or did he only want what they'd already done?

See, this is why she never did one night stands. There was just so many questions and she had very few answers.

Peeking up over his body, Sansa saw the time on the clock on his nightstand. It was closing in on eight in the morning. She was supposed to meet her mother, Arya, Jeyne, and Ygritte for brunch at nine thirty. She really did need to get up and head back home so she could quickly change before meeting up with them.

As carefully as she could, Sansa slipped from the bed and gathered up her clothing. She had decided on leaving him a short note with her number, telling him to call if he wanted. That way the ball was in his court and she didn't have to worry about it anymore. Although, to be fair, she would probably worry and wait and wonder for days hoping he'd call. Because she really, really wanted him to call.

Once her clothes were back on, her panties stashed in her clutch, Sansa sat at the foot of the bed so she could put on her shoes. She must have jostled the bed too much because Sandor shifted and stretched out, a groan rumbling from his throat. She watched him with her lip caught between her teeth as he looked to the empty side of the bed she'd slept on. He sighed heavily and then rubbed a hand over his face roughly.

"Sorry to wake you." she said softly to alert him to her presence. He bolted upright in the bed, grey eyes flicking over her body, taking in her fully clothed state.

"You leaving?" he asked and for some reason Sansa thought he sounded mad.

"I have to." she explained, going back to putting her shoes on. "My mother and sister and sisters-in-law all have a standing brunch date every Sunday morning. I need to get going so I won't miss it."

"Huh." he eyed her for a moment and Sansa finished up with her shoes and met his gaze. For a long second Sansa felt like he was looking for something, maybe wondering if she was lying.

"Brunch, yeah?" he let out a laugh. "That sounds like something you uppity rich people do."

"You don't have to be rich to have brunch." Sansa argued gently. "And I'd like to think I'm not uppity. I know for certain my sister isn't."

Sandor's head tilted in acknowledgement. "I suppose you aren't so bad." he grinned with the good side of his mouth and when Sansa stood up, he laid down on his side, hand propping his head up while he watched her.

"Thanks for that." she laughed, searching in her clutch for a pen. "Do you have a piece of paper?"

Stretching out, and showcasing a drool worthy amount of back and side muscles while doing so, Sandor reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a post it pad and handed it to her.

"Thank you." Sansa took it and quickly jotted down her phone number, adding her name underneath it on a second thought so he didn't forget whose number it was.

"Here." she pulled the paper off the pad and smoothed the sticky side down on his headboard above his head. "My phone number. Give me a call sometime."

With his head tilted up, eyeing the sticky note, Sandor nodded but didn't say anything.

"If you want." she clarified and put her pen back in her clutch. "Thanks for last night. It was fun." With that, Sansa headed towards his bedroom door.

"Yeah." his voice stopped her when she was just out in the hall. She looked back in to find him holding the sticky note now, eyes on her. "I'll see you later, Little Bird."

Sansa smiled brightly, a bubble of happiness flooding her belly. "You will?" she asked.

Sandor snorted a laugh with a little shake of his head. He glanced at the number in his hand and then back at her. "Yeah, I will."


	90. I noticed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #89. I noticed. 
> 
> This is a follow up of #31. (Don't worry about me.)

For years after taking a boat in Duskendale that fateful day, Sansa often wondered what had happened to Sandor Clegane after he'd roughly kissed her and shoved her towards the docks. Reason told her that most likely he had died. Killed by the same men he used to stand beside in the Kingsgaurd while ensuring she got away safely. He was a Kingslayer now. A dead Kingslayer, yes, but because of her his already tarnished name became blackened. 

But not in the North. 

When Sansa reached White Harbor, and eventually reunited with Jon at the Wall, she made certain to tell everyone who would listen how Joffrey's loyal dog had turned against his master in order to save the daughter of the North. Once they had reclaimed Winterfell, Sansa made sure that it was noted in the new Maesters scrolls that Sandor Clegane was a hero, not a monster. It became a hailed name in these parts. He'd become something like a legend amongst the Northernmen, and even the Wildlings. Respected, revered, and praised. But dead all the same. 

With the coming Long Night and the bustling of preparing Winterfell and the armies for the coming battles, Sansa had very little time to dwell on the past and her scarred savior. Of course she thought of him every night, still prayed for him every chance she got, but her waking hours were now filled with sewing warm clothing, lining armor, grain counts, provisions, and rations. 

She was doing just that, busy at her desk in her fathers old solar going over crop numbers when a knock came at her door. 

"My Lady." a guard stepped just inside the door when she bid him entrance. "There is a man at the gates. He claims he knows you." 

"There are many men in these parts that know me." Sansa said without looking up from her papers. 

"Yes, My Lady, but he says...well, the thing is he claims to be the Hound." 

Sansa froze, her quill hovering over the paper and dripping ink. She quickly regained her composure and steadied the surge of hope she'd felt. 

"That's impossible." she looked up at the young guard. "Sandor Clegane is dead." 

"That is true, My Lady, only this man...I've never seen a man such as him." 

Refusing to give into any sort of hope, Sansa sat her quill down and stood up. "Take me to him." she instructed, grabbing her cloak and gloves as they left the room. 

The guard led her down into the court yard and to the front gates. Four guards stood at the entrance, swords drawn but not held in defensive poses, surrounding a single man. He wore no armor and had no weapons other than a thick leather belt around his waist that held a dagger that she could see. He was large, far larger than the guards around him, and Sansa's steps faltered for only a moment before she grasped her skirts and picked up her pace.

"Excuse me." she whispered distractedly as she moved around the young guard leading her and hurrying to the front gates. Reaching the guards at the gate, Sansa couldn't take her eyes off the man before her. He was bigger than her memory recalled, his hair shorter than she remembered, but still hanging over those unchanged scars. But his eyes...those eyes were the exact ones that had haunted her all these years.

"Is it him?" One of the guards asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes." Sansa stepped around them, stopping just in front of their unexpected visitor. "It's Sandor Clegane."

The world around her narrowed and blurred, the man in front of her a sharp point of focus. So many times she had thought of what she would say to him if she had the chance to speak to him once again, but none of those words would come out. Besides, it wasn't words that could convey the depth of her emotion at the moment. Instead, she moved even closer to him, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch his chest, wondering if he would disappear into mist. He didn't. He stayed solid and firm beneath her hand, his chest rising and falling with his breaths.

A sob tickled up her throat, mixing with a giggle of joy and coming out a strange strangled noise. Upon hearing it, she collapsed into his chest and his strong arms came around her and held her gently to his body like she was something precious that he feared to break.

"I thought you were dead." she said into the rough wool of his shirt.

"I'm alive." he said simply, one large hand cradling the back of her head. The absurdity of that statement caused Sansa to laugh, pulling back enough so that she could look up at him.

"I noticed." she smiled and he returned it with a small one of his own. "I'll need you to explain exactly how you came to be alive. And just what took you so long to come and find me."

"Aye." he nodded, releasing his hold on her and stepping back. "And then you can explain how I've become the hero in some bloody song."

Sansa laughed, truly laughed. He meant that literally, as there were now several songs sung by bards around the North of the brave Hound and his heroism in saving the North's most precious bird.  


	91. You can tell me anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #90. You can tell me anything. 
> 
> A bit on the steamy side. Also, Sandor has some pervy thoughts.

Sandor was sitting at the far left corner of the sofa, or 'his side' as Sansa called it. Mostly it was his side because the right side was hers and if he wanted to sit on the sofa when she was also sitting on the sofa, it was on the left. So that's just where he sat now, even when she wasn't home. Since he was in their shared apartment and his roommate was currently at her shift at the hospital, Sandor was watching a shitty horror film, the type he liked best. Mostly because there was always guaranteed to be tits and Sansa always tutted when she watched. In truth, he'd far rather look at her tits. Not that he didn't already. He took a gander every chance he got, but since they were nothing more than friends and roommates, they were always covered by some sort of clothing. He didn't try to hide the fact that he looked and Sansa always smacked him with an eye roll and told him to stop being a pig. She thought he was just teasing her, which he was. He liked seeing her all flustered and blushing. Almost as much as he liked seeing her smiling and happy. Hells, he even enjoyed seeing her pissed off. 

Basically he just liked seeing her. How he saw her, however, wasn't just as a friend. Or even a set of well stacked tits. He saw in Sansa what he'd never thought he'd ever see...someone he wanted in his life forever. In every way imaginable. 

The front door opened just as the movie was reaching it's first murder scene and Sandor glanced back to see Sansa kicking off her shoes and hanging up her purse and keys. 

"Hey." he called over his shoulder, turning back to the movie. 

"Hello." she rounded the sofa, dropping down on the cushions with a heavy sigh. 

Knowing their routine, even if he resented it a little, Sandor patted his thighs without looking away from the TV. Sansa took the invitation and lay back against the arm of the sofa, propping her slim and well manicured feet on his lap. Sandor picked one up and began kneading her instep, eyes on the movie. Some young couple were currently banging each other senseless in a tent, an ax wielding psycho circling them from the outside. Just as Sandor's thumb rubbed a particularly sensitive spot, Sansa moaned right along with the woman on screen. Without really even trying, Sandor perfectly pictured himself like the dude in the movie. On his knees and balls deep inside of Sansa on her hands and knees, face tipped up and moaning just like she had right then while he worked himself inside of her.

"Shit." he dropped her foot like it burnt him and quickly stood up.

"What?" Sansa asked, blinking her eyes open and looking curiously at him from her reclined position. And because Sandor's default emotion when he was overwhelmed or confused was anger, he glared down at her.

"Not a fucking thing." he growled, skirting the coffee table and stomping off towards her bedroom.

How fucking clueless could the girl be? Was he really so undesirable to her that she couldn't see what he was going through? Did the thought of them together seem so laughable that she was ignorant to the fact that he was a heterosexual red blooded male and she was a stunningly gorgeous woman? Not to mention how fucking sweet and kind hearted she was. Gods dammit, but she turned him inside out and he just really didn't know what the fuck to do about it.

"Sandor?" her soft voice called sweetly from his open door, followed by a knock on the frame.

Sandor clenched his jaw, ran a hand through his hair, and then turned to face her. "What?"

"Did I do something to upset you?" she asked meekly and he felt a bit like a prick.

"No." he snapped, then drew a deep breath through his nose. "No."

"Okay." she nodded, then slowly stepped inside of his bedroom. "I'm here, though, if you want to talk. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"Oh yeah?" he mockingly asked. "So if I want to talk about how much I want to fuck you, that'd be just fine, would it? Or that I think I probably need to move out because I can't look at you and see only a friend. No big fucking deal, is it?"

"I..." she trailed off, rosy cheeked and wide eyed. 

"Leave me alone." he sighed and turned his back on her. "I don't need you floundering at me right now." 

There was a long pause of silence. "I don't want you to move out, Sandor." she said gently.

Sandor rounded on her. "You're fine living with some guy that wants inside of you every time he looks at you?" he barked. 

"No." she shook her head, then smiled a little. "But I am okay with living with you. Even if those are things that you think." she stepped a little closer, blue eyes looking up at him through her lashes. " _Especially_ if those are things you think."

"Why?" was all he could ask, his body nearly shaking with the want to close the small bit of distance between them. 

"Because those are things that I would very much like." she informed him with a cheeky grin. "What do you think I'm picturing every time you rub my feet and I'm laying there with my eyes closed?" 

"What are you picturing?" he rasped, knowing that what she said would probably break every ounce of restraint he had. 

"I'm picturing what other kinds of pleasure those wonderful hands of yours could give me." 

Yep. Restraint broken. Obliterated. Crushed to absolute fucking dust. Sandor reached out and snaked an arm around her waist, towing her willing body into his. 

"Care to find out?" he asked lowly, dropping his mouth down to hover just above hers. 

"Yes." she tipped her chin up, ghosting her lips along his. "Please." 


	92. I hope you like it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #91. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Wedding night fluff.

The wedding was something Sandor had very little opinion in. He didn't care when it was or how many people they invited or if it was a traditional ceremony or if she incorporated a bit of the old Northern ways into it. He said none of it mattered to him, so long as he got her in the end. So Sansa planned the wedding she'd dreamt about since she was a little girl. They married in her parents sprawling back yard with all of her family and their closest friends. Arya was her only bridesmaid and Bronn was Sandor's sole groomsman. Her dress was exactly what she'd always pictured and her hair was done up perfect. They exchanged rings, did a modern version of hand tying and Sandor also wrapped her in a cloak, just like in the old days. The reception took place at her parents as well and there was food and music and dancing and Sansa didn't think she could ever be happier. She didn't know if there could possibly be anything she could do to thank Sandor for allowing her such a perfect day.

Other than their wedding night, of course.

Sandor booked them a suite at a nice hotel, and they would leave the next morning for their honeymoon. Sansa had gone shopping the week before, looking for the perfect wedding night lingerie. She'd considered the traditional white lace, but she'd worn a white wedding dress and didn't want to be so cliché. Black was also a contender, but ultimately it seemed too...naughty for a wedding night. She wanted something sweet, but sexy. Something that would make Sandor want to make love to her slowly, not fuck her through the mattress. That would come later. During their honeymoon. Tonight she wanted it to be romantic and passionate. 

When she first spotted the lingerie Sansa knew she had to have it. It was perfect! A light cream colored silk corset top with a pretty floral print, complete with little birds. The panties matched and the cream stockings she wore during the wedding would go perfectly. 

As soon as they reached their suite, Sandor began kissing her hotly. Sansa tried not to be swept up in it and gently pushed him away. 

"What?" he asked, reaching for her once again. 

"Nothing." she smiled at him. "Why don't you go turn on the fireplace while I...freshen up." 

Sandor snorted with a roll of his eyes, but dropped their bags near the foot of the bed and went to the gas fireplace and flipped the switch to cause it to light. While he was busy doing that, Sansa ducked into the bathroom. She'd changed out of her wedding dress at her parents and put on the lingerie before covering it with her going away dress. Taking that dress off now, Sansa readjusted her stockings, made sure the garters were attached nicely, and then carefully fluffed her curling hair. Smiling at herself in the mirror, Sansa took a breath and headed back out to where Sandor was. 

He was sitting at the foot of the bed, having removed his suit jacket and tie along with his shoes and socks. His braces hung loose around his hips and he was looking at what seemed to be the room service menu. 

Cocking her hip out to the side and posing a bit for him, Sansa cleared her throat to bring round his attention. 

"You want some wine or champagne?" he asked without looking up. "I should have had some sent up earlier, but I didn't think of it." 

"It doesn't matter." she assured him, shaking her hips just a tiny bit. "I'm not thirsty right now anyway." 

"Aren't you supposed to drink champa...whoa." He trailed off when he finally looked up at her, grey eyes slowly skimming up and down her body. His eyes caught on the corset and a grin crooked his lips. 

"Are those little birds?" he asked, glancing back up at her face.

"Yes." she smiled, lifting her hand to touch the small bird that rested underneath her breast. "I hope you like it." 

"Like it?" he repeated with a chuckle, pushing himself up to stand. He crossed over to stand just in front of her, dropping his hand down to rub at her thigh just above the stockings. "Yeah, Little Bird, I like it." 

"Good." she whispered, pushing up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. "Now I want you to take it off of me and make love to me." 

"I don't think so." he rasped, eyes cast down as he watched his fingers slide up her thigh to touch the leg band of her panties. "I think I'd rather you be wearing it."

"That can probably be arranged." she giggled as his fingers tickled down the inside of her thigh back to the stocking. "It's the least I can do. You've been so accommodating about the whole wedding, Mr. Clegane."

"Anything to get you to be Mrs. Clegane." he teased back before surprising her by kneeling slightly and scooping her up bridal style. Sansa laughed happily and then she wasn't laughing anymore because Sandor was kissing her and they were married and about to make love and she didn't think she could ever be this happy.

She couldn't wait to see what their life together brought.  


	93. I want you to be happy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #92. I want you to be happy.

Sansa stood from getting the order from a group of ladies sitting near the pool tables to find Sandor, the bartender, in conversation with a woman. It wasn't unusual, of course. He was the bartender after all. But this particular woman had been coming into the bar fairly regularly lately and always by herself. Her hair was cut short and shaved on one side, dyed a vibrant shade of red. She always wore dark colored clothes and combat boots over skinny jeans. One arm was covered in a sleeve of tattoos and Sansa often found herself jealous of the girls makeup ability. The woman was very pretty, and very far away from the type of woman Sansa was. Which only made it hurt a little worse that Sandor seemed to share in the girls interest. In that he didn't bark at her like most others even if he wasn't laughing and smiling while they talked. 

On principal, Sansa refused to hate women she didn't know. Especially for something as petty as this woman gaining the attention of the man Sansa had been interested in for the better part of six months. 

"Hey, Sansa." the woman greeted her when Sansa come to stand next to her at the bar, passing the women's order off to Sandor. 

"Hello, Dee." Sansa said politely back, casting the other woman a smile but turning her focus back to Sandor as he turned around to start mixing drinks. 

"My, my." Dee sighed, leaning forward onto her elbows as she took in the same sight Sansa was looking at. "That's a fine ass view." she chuckled, looking back at Sansa. "And some of my friends wonder why I keep coming here every weekend." 

Sansa couldn't help but sigh and nod in agreement. It really was a fine view with Sandor's customary black jeans sculpting that firm bottom rather nicely. 

"I'm going to ask him out." Dee declared, causing Sansa to whip her head around to look at her. "I'm tired of waiting for him to make a move. What do you think?" 

"Me?" Sansa asked, startled. 

"Yeah, well, you know him don't you?" she asked. "I mean, is he not into forward woman?" 

Sansa actually didn't know what time of women he was into. He didn't ever seem to be into any type of woman. But he didn't seem to mind Dee, so it probably wasn't a bad idea. At least not for Dee. 

"I, um, I don't see what it would hurt for you to make the first move." Sansa forced a smile. "It is 2018 for heavens sake." 

Dee smiled brightly, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. "Yeah. Thanks, girl." 

Sansa nodded, wondering what on earth she had just done. But Sandor was passing her off the drinks and there wasn't time to worry about it now. 

Later, Sansa was behind the bar, stacking receipts while watching Sandor and Dee out of the corner of her eye at the other end of the bar. It was near closing time and Dee grabbed a pen out of Sandor's shirt pocket, then scrawled something down on a napkin. With two fingers, she pushed the napkin towards Sandor. Sansa dropped the pretense and fully watched as he reached out and took the napkin. He looked at it, then back at Dee who winked before sliding off the barstool and heading to the door. She gave Sansa a hidden thumbs up as she passed and Sansa flashed a brief smile. But, damn. That hurt. 

"What's that?" Sansa asked, feigning ignorance as Sandor approached, shoving the napkin in his shirt pocket along with the pen. 

"Nosey bird." he teased. "It's a phone number, if you must know." 

"Oh." Sansa whispered, her voice shaking far too much for just one word. She had assumed it was, but knowing...well, she had to give it to Dee. She had more bravery than Sansa did. At least she had made her move. 

"What's that all about?" 

"Nothing." Sansa slapped the last receipt down, angry at herself for waiting so long. "I'll take out the trash." she stomped around him, grabbing the big trash bag near the bar opening, intent on hauling it out to the alley. 

"Easy up there, girl." Sandor stopped her. "I'll take it out." 

"I can do it." she snapped, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. But I can do it. Why don't you just...I don't know. Call Dee." She didn't know why she said that. It was a stupid thing to say, given that Dee had just left and Sandor obviously wouldn't be calling her tonight. Hopefully. 

"What?" he asked, face screwing up in a mixture of confusion and irritation. 

"Never mind." she waved him off. "Why don't you go ahead and take out the trash. I'll wipe the tables down." 

"I already wiped the tables down." he reminded her. 

"Then I'll take out the trash." she countered, grabbing the bag again. 

"What in the bleeding hell has gotten into you?" he grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving. And suddenly Sansa felt like she was going to cry. 

"Nothing." she sniffed. "Just...take out the trash, okay?" she just needed him to get away from her so she could collect herself. 

"Take out the trash, don't take it out, wipe the tables...what do you want from me, Sansa?" he questioned mockingly but it struck Sansa and she pulled away from him, turning to meet his eyes. 

"I want you to be happy." she said simply and Sandor's eyebrow flew to his hair line. "It has nothing to do with the bar or any of the duties. Dee gave you her number. You seem to like her. So I just want to know if that makes you happy. Because that's all I ever wanted for you. To be happy. Even if that means it's not with me." 

"With you?" he lowered that brow now, scrunching it in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means I like you, Sandor." she informed him, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I've been trying to show you that. I thought I had and that you just weren't interested. Obviously you aren't. I wasn't very subtle about it. And then there was Dee and you two seemed to get on so well. And now you have her number. And if you're happy, then I'm happy for you." 

Sandor stood there, almost glaring but not quite as he stared down at her. He was silent for so long Sansa began to fidget, then sighed and reached for the garbage once again. 

"I'll just take this out." 

"Stop." he grabbed her arm again, less roughly this time, and turned her back to him. "Leave the goddamn trash, Little Bird." 

Sansa let go as she was told and waited to hear what he had to say. 

"Dee...I like Dee." Sansa winced, wishing she hadn't started all this. "She looks at me and doesn't cringe at the scars." 

"I told you they weren't that bad." she reminded him weakly. 

"Shut up, girl." he said gently. "I'm not finished. Yeah, I like the girl. In a world where there wasn't you, or a reality where I still thought I didn't stand a chance with you, I'd go for it. It's why I kept the number. But now, _fuck_ , now you're saying I stand a chance? With you?" 

"Of course you do, Sandor." she said emphatically. "You don't just stand a chance. I'm actually willing to beg you to take that chance." 

Sandor nodded, letting go of her arm and taking a step back. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the napkin Dee gave him and then his cellphone from his back pocket. Sansa waited in silence as he typed in the number and the proceeded to write out a text. She heard the little whir sound as the message sent and then he handed the phone to her so she could see the text. 

_It's Sandor. Should have told you at the bar, but there's no use for you to wait around on a call from me. There's someone else and she makes me so fucking happy. Sorry to waste your time._

Sansa laughed through a surge of tears as she read the text. Then looked back up at him. 

"I can't figure out if that's a really rude text, or a really considerate one." she handed him the phone back. 

"I don't give a damn." he sat the phone on the bar. "Like I told her,  _you're_ the one that makes me happy. I'm not giving up the chance to make you happy as well." 

With a smile, Sansa grabbed him and pulled him towards her and Sandor allowed her, lowering his head to capture her lips in a kiss that was a long time coming. She could feel him smiling against her lips before he pushed the kiss further, licking inside of her mouth and making all those months of waiting melt away. Neither of them noticed that his phone buzzed on the counter. 

_If it's that pretty redhead waitress, it's about fucking time. You two were going to kill me with the sexual tension! Congrats, man. No hard feelings._


	94. I believe in you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #93. I believe in you. 
> 
> Teenage Sandor and Sansa.

"Looks like we got ourselves an audience, boys." Bronn said with a cocky grin, dipping his head towards the fence of the public ball field where two girls were standing. One was short, solid built, with brown hair and a serious expression. The other was tall, slim figured, with long red hair and a sweet smile already on her face. The shorter girl carried a bucket of what Sandor assumed were softballs by the yellow tint to the white bucket. Both girls carried ball bags over their shoulders.

"You guys gonna be playing long?" the shorter girl asked. "We came here to practice."

Sandor, standing near home plate with a bat in his hands, looked out at the other guys, mostly boys from the high school baseball team he played for. Most seniors like himself, some lower classman. Judging from the girls appearance, the taller one was probably a freshman and the other had to still be in middle school. Or would be, once summer was over.

"We'll be here for a while yet." Sandor informed them, then made his way to the plate, ignoring the girls and lifting his bat, shifting his feet in the dirt.

"We could play with you, if that's alright." the other girl said in a soft, hopeful voice and Sandor snorted, dropping his bat and looking back at her. There was no way this pretty little dainty thing could play ball. Even if she was wearing active leggings and a loose tank top, she was far too well manicured to be getting dirty.

"Think you can play, do you princess?" he mocked her, but Gendry, the catcher, stood up and shoved Sandor's shoulder lightly.

"Come on, man." he argued. "It's not that big a deal. Let them play."

"Alright." Sandor conceded. "You two head on out to the outfield." he pointed with his bat. "Make sure you don't get hurt."

"Fuck that." the shorter girl yelled and the taller one quickly shushed her.

"Arya!" she scolded. "Watch your language."

"Look, little girl..."

"Don't call me a little girl." the girl, Arya, growled at him.

"Fine." Sandor rolled his eyes. "You can't play with the big boys. You'll get hurt."

A smile spread across the girls face, which made Sandor a little nervous it was so evil looking.

"Alright, big boy." she mocked. "Let's make a bet. My sister will pitch to you. Softball distance. If you can hit off her or she walks you, we'll leave and wont bother you again. But if she strikes you out, we get the field. No bitching."

Sandor leaned on his bat, looking out at Bronn, the current pitcher, who just shrugged.

"Don't be a pussy, Clegane." Tormund shouted from first base. "Let the girl have her try."

Sandor sighed heavily. All he wanted was to get some field time in that was for fun instead of being pushed to the limits by their coach. He supposed it wouldn't hurt anything, letting this girl pitch to him. It wouldn't take too long anyway. He did have the best batting average on the team, not to mention girls threw way slower than guys. If this little priss of a thing could even get it over the plate.

"Fine." he motioned towards the mound and the girls exchanged a smile before coming onto the field. Arya, the younger girl, shoved Gendry out from behind the plate and strapped on her own equipment that just made her look even smaller. Sansa, the older girl who had introduced herself sweetly, walked out to the rubber at the closer distance. She had a well used glove on and a softball in one hand. Sandor watched as she stretched her right arm, then rotate it a few times. She flicked her pony tail off her shoulder and then kicked a few times in front of the rubber, which caused her ass to shake in those skin tight leggings. Sandor cleared his throat, suddenly realizing it was going to be damn hard to concentrate on her pitch if he was distracted by her ass. But, to be fair, it was a fine ass.

"Alright, princess." he stepped up to the plate. "Let's see what you got."

Sansa smiled a little, but stood a few steps behind the rubber, taking a couple deep breaths. Like she was nervous.

"It's alright." he taunted her. "I believe in you." he said mockingly, but instead of getting a rise out of her, she simply grinned. It looked almost...smug. With one last roll of her shoulder, she stepped up to the rubber and her pretty blue eyes slid from his own to Arya. She brought the ball into her glove in front of her and for a second just froze. The next second she shot into action, doing that windmill thing girls did and taking a long stride forward that made her already long legs seem ridiculously long. Before Sandor knew what was happening, she'd snapped the ball at her hip and it flew past him and smacked Arya's glove with a loud noise.

Shit. That was fast. Or, to be fair, it wasn't as fast as Bronn, but she was also closer. His reaction time was shortened. And it was a perfect fucking strike. This might not be as easy as he was thinking.

"What's wrong, there pretty boy?" Arya mocked from behind the plate, throwing the ball back to her sister without moving from her crouch.

"Fuck off." he said under his voice, forcing himself to focus and ignore how the other guys were all oohing and awing and giving him shit. He lifted his bat, set his feet, and kept his eyes on her hip where the ball would come from.

She went through the same cycle again and this time Sandor swung, but missed. The guys went even wilder with their laughing and teasing.

"Fuck off you twats." Sandor yelled, kicking the dirt like it had something to do with his miss. He gripped his bat again and met Sansa's eye for a second. She gave him a sweet smile and then winked at him.

The next pitch was a hair too high to be a strike, but the third came flying down the strike zone and Sandor started to swing. He knew almost immediately that it was a shit decision. The girl had thrown a perfect curve ball and just as it was reaching the plate, it swerved left and out of his reach.

Strike three.

Arya whooped loudly and the guys were all cheering and jeering and Sandor ignored them all, standing there staring back at Sansa. She tossed the softball and caught it in her right hand a few times, then met his eyes and smiled widely.

"Sansa Stark." she reintroduced herself. "First string pitcher for the high school softball team."

Despite being shown the fuck up by a slip of a girl, Sandor couldn't help but quirk a grin. "Alright." he nodded and then shut the other guys up with a yell. "You won the field. I gotta say, you have a damn good arm."

"Thank you." she accepted gracefully. "You've got a good swing. It would actually be more fun if you guys stayed, though. We could both use some hitting practice. If you'd like to, that is."

Sandor didn't even consult the other guys. "Hell yeah, we'll stay. I want to see you strike ginger boy over there out. Maybe he'll shut is damn trap after that."

"Unlikely." Tormund grinned toothily.

"Good." she bit her bottom lip for a moment. "Besides, what girl can pass up a group of guys wearing baseball pants." she let her eyes drift down to his own baseball pants and Sandor had to shift a little.

"Gross." Arya grunted from behind the plate. "You guys are going to make me sick. Who's up next? Sansa needs to keep that arm warm."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I coach a girls high school fastpitch softball team and for so long I've wanted to write Sansa as a ball player. She fits the bill of a pitcher being so long limbed. I could never really think of anything other than short snippets like this instead of a longer story, so this worked well for this prompt. I hope you guys like it!!


	95. You can do it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #94. You can do it. 
> 
> Additional scene to Sorry I'm Late. Smut and handcuffs.

Sansa had just finished getting ready for bed. Her parents were keeping Elias for the night since she and Sandor had a date planned for earlier that evening. It was always nice to have a bit of time away from Elias so she and Sandor could focus solely on each other. And it was when Elias was gone that Sansa was able to stay over at Sandor's all night, which she loved because his bed was so big and cozy and smelled like him.

Currently Sandor was outside with his new puppy, Stranger he'd named him, and Sansa took it upon herself to put the basket of laundry sitting on his bed away. Sandor hadn't asked her to do it, but she liked helping him out. Especially if it meant he wore unwrinkled shirts since she hung them up when he normally just let them stay in the basket until he decided to wear them. After hanging up his shirts, Sansa grabbed the few socks and couple pairs of underwear and carried them to his dresser to put them away. Pulling that top drawer opened, Sansa suddenly remembered what he kept in there. Or had, anyway. Curious, Sansa peeked inside and saw the glint of one of the cuffs buried beneath his socks. She bit her lip and checked the door, but Sandor was nowhere to be seen. 

Dropping the clothes into the drawer, Sansa picked up the cuffs and ran a finger around one of the opened enclosures. It was a bit chilly but smooth and Sansa felt a surge of desire at the thought of being bound to his headboard with these while he had free reign over her body. The thought immediately caused a throbbing pulse between her thighs. She wondered how exactly she could go about getting him to agree to it. 

"Snooping again?" Sandor's voice caused her to jump and when she glanced over at his smirking face she had a flash of deja vu. 

"Putting your unmentionables up." she informed him. "I was curious if you still had these." 

Sandor nodded, crossing over to her and taking the cuffs from her. They looked so much smaller in his hands. Actually seeing him holding them caused her breath to hitch and she shifted her thighs a little against the throbbing there. 

"I actually forgot about them." he shrugged, not noticing her predicament as he pulled the dresser back open. "Stranger went into his kennel..."

"No, don't." she stopped him from dropping the cuffs back into the drawer and he looked back at her with his one brow cocked. Sansa bit her lip and flushed, but knew she would push forward because she really, really wanted this. "Why did you keep them?" she asked. "Are they something you want to use?"

"I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." he assured her and Sansa didn't think she could love him anymore.

"It won't." she promised and saw the way his chest stuttered with his breathing. "You can do it."

"You want me to cuff you?" he clarified in a rough voice. 

"Yes." she nodded enthusiastically. "I've actually been thinking about it since I first found those." 

He snorted a laugh, shoving the drawer shut again and keeping the cuffs in his hand. "You've no fucking idea." he rolled his tongue against his teeth the way he knew drove her insane. 

"Then show me." she breathed and Sandor's jaw clenched tightly for a moment. 

"Alright." he nodded. "But you have to talk to me. If you don't like it, tell me and I'll let you go." 

"Do we need a safe word?" she asked, already backing up towards the bed and pulling her pajama shorts off. "Stop light colors or something?" 

Sandor chuckled, and shook his head. "No. Just tell me to let you go if you want let go. Or tell me you don't like something if you don't like it. That simple." 

Sansa nodded, pulling her shirt off and tossing it to the side, leaving her in turquoise lace panties. She hooked her thumbs in them, noticing how Sandor was suddenly very focused on her, eyes taking in her body and causing her blood to heat. "Should I take these off now, or wait?" 

"Wait." he flicked the second cuff open. 

"How do you want me?" she asked in a breathy voice, rubbing her hand over her belly, loving the way his grey eyes followed the motion. 

"On the bed." he rasped, jerking his head in that direction. "On your back. Grab hold of the rails." 

Sansa complied, positioning herself in the middle of the bed and reaching up to grab hold of the cool iron rails of his headboard. Sandor put a knee on the mattress next to her and latched one cuff around the wrist closest to him. 

"Too tight?" he asked, rubbing her arm just below the cuff. 

"No." she assured him, already beginning to pant a little. He glanced down at her heaving chest and smirked as he threaded the chain around the rails and latched the other cuff around her other wrist. He looked at her in question and Sansa nodded to let him know it felt fine. 

Once he was done, he swung his other leg onto the bed and moved between her legs, pushing them further apart to fit his body. He leaned forward over her body, hands braced on either side of her chest and brought his lips to hers for a kiss. Sansa immediately opened for him, loving the way he licked inside of her mouth and teased her tongue. He kissed her until it was getting harder to breathe and without thinking she tried to bring her hands to his hair, but only succeeded in making the cuffs rattle. She groaned, the restraint making her body nearly shake with want. Sandor chuckled against her mouth, then drew his lips down her jaw to her throat. Sansa bowed her back, wanting his body to touch hers more, but he was still wearing his shirt. 

"Take your shirt off, please." she asked and Sandor immediately sat up and jerked his shirt off, throwing it off to the side. Knowing exactly what she wanted, he lowered his chest to hers, dragging it up and scraping her nipples with his chest hair. With the inability to move, it felt like every one of her nerves were on fire. 

Sandor leaned down and sucked her earlobe into his mouth, then traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. "How about a blindfold?" he rasped against her ear, making goosebumps erupt on her skin. 

"No." she immediately shook her head and Sandor pulled back enough to look down at her with his brow raised. "I want to see you." 

He swallowed hard, then nodded before dipping his head back to her throat. Far slower than Sansa was hoping for, he drew his lips and tongue and teeth down her chest, teasing her breasts and nipples until she thought perhaps she'd come just from that. Sandor didn't give her the chance. When she started moaning and writhing under him, the cuffs rattling with her movements, he carried on down her belly and sides, leaving nothing untouched. She was sure she'd have beard burn all over her skin come morning, but she honestly didn't care. Not when his big, rough hands were lifting her left leg as he sat up on his knees. Breathing hard and shaking a bit in want, Sansa watched as Sandor started at her toes and nipped, licked, and kissed his way up her calf, teasing the back of her knee, and then working down the length of her thigh. She gasped when he reached the curve where her leg met her center, and then held her breath as his mouth hovered over her center, hot breath soaking through the lace and bringing her attention to just how wet she was already. 

"Sandor, please." she begged, ready to sob if it meant he'd finally touch her. Instead he kissed just above the lace of her panties and went back on his knees, this time bringing her right leg up. He mirrored his actions to the left, though it seemed even slower this time. 

"These fucking legs." he groaned when he reached her knee, rubbing his nose into the sensitive underside. "Your legs drive me insane." 

"You're driving me insane." she retorted with a whine, but he only smiled against her skin before moving back down her thigh. He cupped her hips, his thumbs fitting into the dips of them and pressing down and rubbing. The action tightened her womb, caused her hips to surge off the bed and a low, needy moan to pull from her mouth. 

"Please." she asked again in a shaking voice. "Please touch me, Sandor." 

"I am." he replied, working his fingers under the band of her underwear at her hips. 

"More." she pleaded and he finally took mercy on her, holding her hips down and lowering his mouth to the core of her and pressing the flat of his tongue to the already too wet gusset of her panties. The heat and pressure caused her to shiver deeply, but her hips pushed against him, needing more pressure, more movement. More of him. 

He groaned against her, then buried his nose against her and breathed deeply. "Gods, woman. You make me want you more than I thought possible." 

"Take them off." she lifted her hips again. "Please, take them off." 

Sitting up with a grunt, Sandor pulled her panties off and Sansa lifted her legs and brought them together to one side of him so he could remove them. Before she could lower her legs back to the bed, Sandor grabbed her under each knee and pressed her legs open, then bent them back towards her chest. It opened her completely to him and he took a moment to simply just look. Sansa jerked against her restraints, wanting to touch him, and nearly cried when she couldn't. 

"Fucking...gods, woman." he licked his bottom lip, then rolled his tongue against his teeth, which caused her muscles to clench. He grinned at that, then looked up at her. His unburnt cheek was flushed and his eyes were hooded with want. Sansa opened her mouth to do some more begging, but Sandor slid down onto his stomach and lowered her legs over his shoulders. Spanning one large hand over her belly, he pushed one thigh further to the side and then licked through her folds. He'd gotten used to what she liked best, what go her there fastest, but tonight he seemed to just be playing with her. Licking and stroking with his tongue without ever really touching her clit, sucking and pressing just inside of her. He kept her on edge, and each time Sansa tried to reach for him another surge of need raced through her when she found she couldn't move. 

It was torture. Wonderful, blissful torture. 

Twice he brought her to the edge, where only one or two more strokes of his tongue would have sent her flying, and twice he pulled back to press his tongue inside of her. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat and her thighs were shaking horribly. The third time he did it, Sansa nearly cried when he pulled away, this time to sit up. He kept his fingers one either side of her clit, pushing down with pressure and keeping her right there, just  _right there_. When she forced her eyes open to look at him, she realized he looked just as frustrated as her. He always looked angry when he was turned on, and right now it fanned her flame even higher. 

At some point he must have undone his jeans because in the next second he leaned forward and pressed inside of her. That was all it took, just that one thrust inside of her while his fingers held her clit and rubbed and she was coming harder than she'd ever remembered coming before in her life. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was very happy that Elias wasn't there because there was no way her loud moaning wouldn't have woken him up. As it was, she could just hear Stranger barking from his kennel in the kitchen. 

"Fuck." Sandor moaned. "Goddammit, little bird." 

He must have been worked up because he only lasted a few thrusts before he suddenly pulled out from her body, coming in streams over her belly and chest. He'd never done that before and although Sansa never would have guessed it, she found it sexy as hell. 

"Gods." he groaned again, falling like a tree next to her on the mattress. They both lay there panting for a long moment, and then he propped himself up on an elbow to look down at her. Or, more specifically, at his come on her belly. He looked both ashamed and aroused at the sight. 

"Should have asked before I did that." he sighed, looking up at her. 

"It's fine." she assured him in a wrecked, sleepy voice. "Just undo my hands, please." 

With a few quick movements, Sandor had the cuffs undone and tossed them to the floor. Gathering her wrists in his hands, he rubbed them for a bit, and then pressed a kiss to the inside of each. 

"That was amazing." she sighed. 

"Aye." he agreed. "That it was." 

"We'll have to save that for only occasionally, though." she glanced at him with a grin. "I don't know if I can handle it more often than that." 

He snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Whatever you say, little bird." With that, he got up and headed to the bathroom, coming back with a wet wash cloth for her to clean up with. When she was done, she tossed it into the hamper in the corner and curled up against his side. 

"I have a confession." Sandor said just as she was starting to doze off. 

"Mhm?" she hummed against him. 

"Those aren't the same cuffs." 

Confused, Sansa lifted her head enough to look at his face. He gave her a sheepish shrug and then closed his eyes. 

"I tossed the other ones out a while back. But I kept remembering your face when you saw them so when we finally got together, I bought another pair. You know, just in case." 

Sansa giggled and buried her face back into his chest. "Took you long enough to show me." 

"Yeah, well, I'm always late." 


	96. Good luck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #95. Good luck. 
> 
> More of Sansa and Jon talking then actual SanSan, but their conversation is very much about SanSan.

"He's going to say no." Sandor argued, pacing in front of her chamber door.  

"You don't know that." Sansa said gently, unwilling to turn this into yet another fight. "Jon loves me. If I were to explain to him..."

"Explain to him, what?" he stopped, turning to glare at her. "That you want to fuck the Hound but you're a Lady so you need to marry him first even though his station is so far below your own it's laughable?" 

Sansa took a deep breath before she spoke. She understood his anger that it wasn't quite anger. This thing between them scared him. It was new and intense and Sandor had never been on the receiving end of affection and love before, so he didn't know how to handle it. 

"No." she said carefully. "I will explain to him that you make me happy..." she held up a hand when he went to interrupt again. "That you make me feel safe. He already knows you care for me. That much was evident when you left the silent brothers to save me from the Vale. Jon is reasonable, and Jon wants me to be happy." 

"That's not enough for someone like you." Sandor argued again, sounding more and more discouraged instead of angry. "You're the Lady of Winterfell. Once Jon leaves for Kings Landing you'll be Wardeness of the North. You'll need a buggering lord for a husband. Not a second born dog from a shit house." 

There wasn't much to argue with that, because it was true. But none of that mattered to Sansa. With the Great War now over, she simply wanted to be happy and loved. Regardless of what he said, she knew how much Sandor loved her. It would be a scandal, the talk of the North, yet it mattered not. Her people loved and respected her. In time, they would come to respect, if not love, Sandor as her husband as well. 

"I'm going to talk to him." Sansa stood from her chair and crossed over to where he was. "He'll see reason, Sandor. I know he will." 

Sandor snorted at that, turning his head so he didn't have to look at her. Because he was having trouble hiding just how worried he was about the outcome of this conversation that Sansa would have with Jon. It mattered to him as much as it mattered to her. 

"Good luck." he mumbled under his breath, probably in what he meant to be a mocking way, but Sansa appreciated the words anyway. She reached out and took one of his hands in one of hers and gave it a squeeze before reaching for the door. She went to step out, but Sandor didn't release her hand. Sansa looked back at him and met his eyes. Neither of them spoke, but Sansa didn't need the words. After a moment he dropped her hand and gave a curt nod which she returned with a smile. 

She found Jon in the solar that they currently shared, but would be hers once he left. He had a stack of scrolls in front of him and was rubbing his forehead with one hand. 

"Jon." she announced her entrance and he looked up at her with a distracted smile. 

"Sansa." he let out a sigh and sat back in his chair. "Perfect timing. I was starting to lose the ability to read." 

"The demands of a King." she teased gently, moving to sit in a chair in front of the desk. 

"Yes." he sighed again. "It seems never ending." 

"Once you and Dany wed you'll be able to share those demands." 

"True." he grew nervous looking, sitting forward and bracing his arms on the desk. "About marriage. I've received several letters...."

"That will be returned with sincere gratitude, but an unfortunate denial." Sansa reminded him. "Just like all the others have been." 

"I understand your hesitancy, Sansa, I do." Jon rubbed at the beard growing back in that made him look even more like their father. Or, truly just her father, but Ned Stark would always be who Jon considered his father. "But you do understand that eventually Winterfell will need heirs." 

"I do." she nodded. "And I wish to marry and have children. I only want to be able to marry someone of my own choosing. Not some lord I've never met." 

"Aye." he nodded. "We can arrange festivals or perhaps even a ball so you might meet them. You could have your choice." 

"I've already made my choice." she said softly and Jon's eyes flew to hers and widened a bit. 

"You have?" he questioned. "But...who? What lord have you gotten acquainted with? Not...not Theon, surely. Sansa, he's....he's..."

"He's becoming a very good man." Sansa finished for him. "But, no. It's not Theon. And he isn't a lord, either."

Jon's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Who?" 

Sansa took a deep breath, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze steadily. "Sandor Clegane." 

For the longest moment, Jon sat frozen. His facial expression remained unchanged and there was no indication that he'd even heard her. Then his eyes closed and he sat heavily back in his chair. 

"Sansa. You can't be serious." 

"I am." she assured him. 

"You cannot marry Sandor Clegane." 

"Jon, you promised me you would never dictate who I married." she reminded him. 

"I know." he said loudly, then covered his mouth to take a moment. "I know. And I meant that I wouldn't force you to marry someone you didn't want. I didn't mean that you could marry some...some..." he gestured widely with his hand, trying to find the word.

"War hero?" she supplied. "Sandor saved your life during the battles. He saved Arya's life. He risked so much to take me away from Petyr."

"He's a good man, yes, but he's from...Clegane isn't even a noble or great House. Just one of landed knights. And he's not even a knight!" 

"I don't want a knight." Sansa cried, her eyes starting to sting with the thought of being denied the one thing she wanted most in the world. "I don't want a lord. I just want someone who will respect me and care for me and protect me. I just want to be loved, Jon. The way you love Dany." 

"Love?" Jon stared at her in shock. "You think Sandor Clegane could love?" 

Sansa looked down at her hands, sniffing back tears. "I don't know, truthfully. I think he might love me. What I do know is that I love him and that what he feels for me is purer and truer than anything any other man could possibly feel for me." 

She wiped at her cheeks and swallowed, wanting to be strong and firm when she said this to him. Looking up, she found his eyes and held them.

"I want him, Jon. I want him to be my husband. I want to be his wife. If you will not consent to letting me have him, then I shall never marry. One of the children you and Dany have can be my heir. Or Arya's, if she ever has any. I will live the rest of my life loving a man that I cannot have in the way a husband and wife can truly have each other, and I will never have children." 

"Sansa." Jon sighed her name, taking his head into his hand and squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Please, Jon." she leaned forward, reaching out to grab hold of his wrist. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Please. Let me be happy." 

Jon hesitated for a moment, but looked down at her hand on his arm. Covering it with his other hand, he nodded once. Sansa thought her heart would soar right out of her chest. 

"Alright." he looked back at her. "I give you my consent. I cannot guarantee that the other Houses will be happy about it, though." 

"Sandor fought and nearly died for them to still have their Houses." Sansa smiled. "He saved many of their high born sons lives. They have enough to be happy about." 

Jon chuckled at that and patted her hand before sitting back in his chair. "First Arya demanding I legitimize Gendry and now you demanding this of me. What do you think Bran will insist for?" 

Sansa giggled at that. "More time alone, perhaps." 

"One stipulation, Sansa." he stopped her when she went to say goodbye. Her heart sank a little and she turned to look at him. "You and any children you have by him will carry the Stark name. The Stark name is what must run Winterfell." 

Sandor had said much the same thing, so Sansa assumed he would be amendable to that. "Agreed. And thank you, Jon. You couldn't have made me happier." 


	97. I brought you an umbrella.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #96. I brought you an umbrella.

Today was always a hard day for Sandor, so Sansa wasn't at all surprised to find him unreachable. In the three years that they'd been friends, this day every year he tended to go AWOL. That didn't mean Sansa let him, even if she did understand. It scared her when he got that way, so distant and almost falling back into that shell of anger that used to encapsulate him at all times. She never forced him to talk about any of it, but she wanted him to know that she was there for him. Even if it was in silence. 

After he ignored three of her phone calls and several texts, Sansa trudged out into the pouring rain to go to his place. It was empty, only Stranger barking at her through the blinds at the window. After that she headed to several of his known hangouts. Mostly dive bars and the one coffee shop that sold the pastries he liked best. All with no sign of him and no one having seen him. Sansa was fixing to head home and call it a day since it was starting to get dark, but as she was driving it hit her where he was.  _Of course_ that's where he would be. 

It was fully dark by the time Sansa reached the graveyard and the rain was coming down even heavier. She leaned forward to better see out the windshield as she scanned for any signs of Sandor. It was fairly easy to find him. There was a single lamp post in the correctional department graveyard, and Sandor's truck was parked underneath it. Pulling her car up behind it, she shut it off and in the darkness found Sandor's form. He was wearing a coat with the hood up, his hands in his pockets. If he heard her car, he showed no indication that he did. He simply stared down at the headstone in front of him. 

Buttoning her own coat, Sansa reached into the passenger seat and grabbed her umbrella. Unfurling it first, she stepped out after and slowly made her way to where he was, careful of her heels in the wet earth. He didn't turn at her approach so Sansa just stepped up next to him. 

"I brought you an umbrella." she said gently, passing him over the umbrella handle. He took it in the hand closest to her and held it above both of their heads without saying anything. Sansa wrapped her arm around his bent elbow and leaned her head against his shoulder, allowing him the silence. She knew this was difficult for him. Not in the same way it was difficult for her when the anniversary of Robb's death came around. It was in a more complicated, confusing way that he had a hard time dealing with. Given the relationship he had with Gregor, Sansa could only imagine and her heart hurt for him. 

She wasn't sure how long they stood there in the pouring rain in silence, staring at the small headstone before them. It only said Gregor Clegane. Inmate #46583. 1983-2015. No loving brother, or loving son. He was neither of those things, and now he was nothing except a ghost that still haunted the man next to her. She only stopped staring out at the grave when she felt Sandor's chest shudder. It nearly broke her heart. 

"What can I do?" she asked, tipping her head up to look at him. He glanced down at her, but didn't answer. Instead he motioned back towards their cars with his head and together they made their way over to the small blacktop road where they were parked. When she went to leave him at his truck and head to her car, he stopped her by grabbing her arm and turning her to face him again. She looked up at him expectantly with a small smile on her face. 

"Kiss me." he surprised her by saying and the smile slipped into a confused expression. 

"What?" 

"You asked what you can do." he reminded her. "Kiss me. That's what you can do." 

Sansa felt her heart flutter and her belly flipped. She stepped closer to him, bringing them both under the umbrella again. "That would help you right now?" 

"Getting lost in you?" he tipped his forehead down to press against her. "There's nothing else in the fucking world that would help more." 

With a smile, Sansa ran her hands up his wet jacket to grab it at his chest. With her forehead still pressed to his, she tipped her chin up and let her eyes fall closed. When Sandor turned his head to the side slightly so that he could press his mouth to hers, Sansa realized she wanted to kiss this lovely man in the rain. That's what happened in the movies and songs, and if anyone deserved a happy ending, it was this man. So she pulled the umbrella handle from his hand and tossed it to the ground and she kissed him for all she was worth, the rain pouring down around them. 


	98. I'll pick you up at the airport.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #97. I'll pick you up at the airport.

Sansa stood in the airport bathroom, smoothing her yellow pleated midi skirt and making sure her white Peter Pan collared blouse was tucked in just right. She had picked out the outfit specifically to impress Joffrey. She only hoped he would like it. Freshening up her makeup and giving her hair one last fluff, she picked up her carry on and made her way towards the front lobby, her wedge heels barely making a noise on the tile floor. Once she got there, she cast a look around, but didn't see Joffrey standing anywhere. Perhaps he was having trouble finding parking. Or maybe he was waiting for her outside so he didn't have to park. 

Pulling her phone out, she checked her last messages between them. 

_My flight lands at 11:30. I can't wait to finally meet you in person! Could you give me a taxi company number?_

_**I'll pick you up at the airport.**  _

_OMG! That's so kind of you._

**_No problem, little bird. I'll be there._ **

After one last scan, Sansa checked the lobby but couldn't spot the golden haired man she was supposed to be meeting so she decided to text him.

_I just got off the plane. Where are you??_

**_Outside. Parking's for shit. Last one in the pickup line._ **

With a flutter of butterflies, Sansa put her phone back into the side pocket of her carry on and made her way outside. While she did she thought back to having met Joffrey on a dating site. They'd only talked a few times on the app, and then they'd started texting. His way of speaking changed quite a bit from the app messages to the texting, but she chalked it up to being a change of formality. Texting was more relaxed. And they got on so well! The first time they talked on the phone she was surprised at the deep, rasping sound of his voice. It hadn't matched the pictures she had of him, but it was appealing all the same. He was a bit curt, but talking to him was easy and they had so much in common. The way he flirted, the innuendos that she sometimes caught on to, they all made her blush and giddy.

Now she couldn't wait to meet this man that she'd come to have some pretty intense feelings for. 

Walking down the row of cars in the pickup line, she spotted the one at the end. Only, it wasn't a car at all. It was a big black motorcycle with the engine shut off. The man on it was sitting sideways, his long, muscular legs stretched out and encased in worn black jeans. One black boot rested on the curb and the other was propped on the side of his bike. His arms were ridiculously muscled and covered in tattoos, a black denim vest with patches all over it over a grey t shirt. A beard covered his face, fading a little on one side that looked to be covered in some sort of scars. A beanie covered his head, black hair hanging out beneath it and dark shades covered his eyes.

He was the scariest looking man Sansa had ever laid eyes on, yet she couldn't get her eyes to pull away from him for more than a few seconds at a time, checking to see if Joffrey was in the car in front of him. He wasn't.

With the sunglasses, Sansa couldn't be sure, but she thought he was watching her as he sat on his bike in all his massive casualness. He took one last drag of the cigarette that he had in his fingers before dropping it onto the side walk and crushing it out with his boot as he stood up. And he was tall! So incredibly tall, and that body, that massive, rock hard...no! Sansa quickly looked away. 

"Sansa Stark?" he said her name, his rasping voice oddly familiar and a trickle of awareness ran up her spine.

"Y-yes." she stepped closer to him. "Who are you?" 

He grinned at that, which drew her attention to his lips. One corner of them were twisted with his scars, but his bottom lip looked full and soft which gave him a sensual look.  
"The guy you've been texting and talking to for the last couple months." he stepped closer and removed his sunglasses. "Don't you know who you've been flirting with all this time?" 

"I...I...it was Joffrey." she let her eyes scan down his body. "You aren't Joffrey." 

He snorted at that, sliding his glasses back on. "Damn straight I'm not. Listen, your little pretty boy cunt got bored with you after he gave you his number. He's a chicken shit so he didn't want to tell you, so he gave me his phone. Sorry to break it to you, girl, but Joffrey was never the one you were talking to." 

Sansa reeled for a moment, taking a step back from him so she could think straight. "Why? Why would he give you his phone?" 

"I'm his body guard. Or was, until...let's just say I'm currently unemployed." 

"But...but why would he want me to come out here to meet him?" she paused, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Or was that you?" 

He shifted his huge feet for a second before shaking his head. "That was Joff. He told me to ask you. Think he actually forgot about it, though. He flew out this morning to go to High Garden with some girl." 

"And you decided not to tell me?" she questioned. 

"Like I said, I don't work for him anymore. I didn't know." 

"So why didn't you tell me about..." she motioned around with her hand. "Everything?" 

With a deep sigh, the man pulled his glasses off once again. His eyes were grey, sort of like her fathers. Lighter, though, more intense. A little wild. 

"Look, you seemed sad." he shrugged. "Didn't think it would hurt any to let you have this. As far as coming down, Joff already paid for everything. Hell, you still even have a room at the Red Keep Resort for the week. Why turn down a paid vacation?" 

Sansa considered it and realized he was right. It was a free vacation. And she really could use a vacation. 

"I suppose I can find a cab around here." she looked out at the line of cars, noticing a few cabs. 

"Fuck that." he jerked his head back towards his bike. "I'm here. I'll drive you to the resort." 

"On...on that?" she questioned with a squeak of surprise, which caused him to chuckle.

"Yeah, on that." he walked back over to his bike and Sansa followed hesitantly. He grabbed a black helmet off the handle bars and held it out towards her. "I'll even go the speed limit." 

"What about my bag?" she questioned, indicating her carry on. 

"It's small enough." he shrugged. "Put it between us." 

"I won't be able to hold on then!" she nearly screeched in fright. 

"Alright, alright." he held up both hands. "I'll bungee it onto the back behind you." 

With a nod, Sansa passed over her bag and watched as he quickly secured it with a couple of bungee cords. Then he kicked one long leg over the bike and straddled it, which caused Sansa to flush all over. 

"What about my skirt?" she nearly whispered, standing beside him and wondering how to get on and remain modest. With his glasses still pushed up onto his forehead, grey eyes flicked down to look at her legs and lingered a little longer than needed. 

"Tuck it and scoot close." he pushed his glasses on. "No one will see anything."

Taking a breath, Sansa carefully stretched her leg out onto the other side of the bike and sat down, making sure to tuck her skirt in around her thighs. In front of her, he kicked the stand up and then started the bike before setting back down and handing her the helmet. Sansa quickly strapped it on, scooting as close to him as she could and wrapping her arms around him so tightly it was likely uncomfortable for him, but she was almost shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Ready?" he yelled over the engine noise. 

"Wait!" Sansa shouted back, leaning around his shoulder to look at his face and he turned so he could look at her. "I don't even know your name."

There was that wicked grin again. "Sandor. Sandor Clegane. Anything else, little bird?"

The nickname had a smile playing at her lips. "Yes, actually. Was it all pretend? Just an act you put on because your boss asked you to? Or was any of it real for you?"

He looked straight ahead again and Sansa watched as his throat worked with a swallow. Then he turned back to her.  "It was real."


	99. Take a deep breath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #98. Take a deep breath.

For the past six months, Sansa had been going to the Quiet Isle Institute of Mental Health to see a counselor. After losing her parents and Robb in quick succession, and then being thrust into the role of caretaker of her two younger brothers, Sansa hadn't coped well. Or at all really, deciding to push her own anguish and anger down and away so she could focus on making a home for her brothers, and Arya whenever she came around.  

Things were getting better. Sansa was learning how to deal with her emotions and pain while taking on her new role with Bran and Rickon. She'd also met someone at the Institute that had become a very dear friend of hers. Sandor was there for his own reasons, and as Sansa had come to learn, had also once been in the inpatient part of the center. She didn't judge him, or question him too hard. She was well aware how hard mental illness could be, and given what Sandor had told her, he'd had a much harder life than her. Every day Sansa had counseling, which was once a week, they met in the courtyard to eat lunch together. He'd also listened to her describe how helpless she felt with Rickon, about how he was just so angry all the time and getting into fights at school. Owning his own boxing gym, Sandor offered to take him on for training, saying it would help. And it had! Sansa couldn't remember a time when Rickon was so well behaved and actually happy about something in life.

As good as things were going, Sansa was in a distant mood today. Earlier this week she'd gotten a phone call from the local hospital, the one Robb was taken to after the crash. The recipient of Robb's heart had been in contact with them and had wondered if Robb's family would like to meet. Sansa had immediately said yes. The prospect had been exciting, like she would be able to see Robb again once more. Ms. Tarth, her counselor, reminded her that wasn't true. This person wasn't Robb. Only a person that had been given a second chance at living because of Robb. Still, there was a part of Sansa that had never really been able to let go of Robb, to get full closure after his death knowing somewhere out there his heart was beating. In a way it made Sansa think that Robb wasn't really gone. He was alive, in a way, and it was difficult for her to fully say goodbye.

"You alright?" Sandor's rasping voice brought her out of her thoughts and Sansa turned to him with a small smile.

"Yeah." she looked down at her untouched sandwich. "Just lost in thought."

Sandor nodded, looking out at the little koi pond they sat next to. He too seemed a bit distant, but that was probably because she wasn't engaging him and he wouldn't push.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally asked, sitting back on the bench and looking over at her without fully meeting her gaze.

"Of course." she promised, giving him an encouraging smile.

He shifted on the bench. Cleared his throat. Looked at the pond, then turned back to her. "Would you want to go out?"

His abrupt question confused her for a moment, but then she felt a surge of hope that she tried not to let take hold. "What do you mean?"

"Out." he cleared his throat again, grey eyes flicking down to hers and holding this time. "With me. On a...you know. A date."

"Oh." she couldn't help the huge smile that spread over her face. "That sounds lovely, Sandor. It couldn't be this evening. I have...a thing. But maybe sometime this weekend?"

"Yeah." he looked down at the bench between them, a grin on his face and his unburnt cheek a little flushed. "Yeah, sounds good."

After getting a promise from Sandor that he'd call and get the details later, Sansa headed home to change her clothes and get the boys ready to head to the hospital. Arya would meet them there.

The drive was made in silence. Bran hardly ever talked, but Rickon was unusually subdued. Sansa was too nervous and...excited to speak. Once they'd met Arya in the lobby, they made their way back to the conference room Dr. Luwin had instructed them to meet in. Everyone waited for Sansa to open the door, but she just stared at it.

"Come on, Sansa." Arya said gently. "Let's do this."

Sansa nodded and took a breath before grabbing the handle and pulling the door open. When she stepped inside she froze for a moment in complete confusion.

"Sandor?" she cocked her head to the side, eyeing her friend that looked downright shocked to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"You two know each other?" Dr. Luwin asked, glancing between the two.

"Sandor's my boxing trainer." Rickon supplied, not realizing what it all meant yet. "Hey, Sandor." he waved.

"Hey, kid." Sandor croaked, then swallowed hard and looked back at Sansa. "I had no idea."

"You?" Sansa almost sobbed. "You're the one who got Robb's heart?"

"Bran, Rick." Arya interrupted. "Let's go find a vending machine. We'll come back in a couple minutes."

Sansa didn't look at them as they left, Dr. Luwin shuffling out after. She and Sandor continued staring at each other.

"I didn't know, Sansa." Sandor repeated. "They wouldn't give me names. Privacy and all that."

"Yeah." Sansa sniffed and nodded. "I'm just trying to catch up here. You've had a heart transplant?"

Sandor nodded, one hand lifting to touch his sternum. "A heart defect I was born with. Heart was giving it up. I got the transplant two years ago."

"And you're okay?"

"I'm great." he assured her. "It was a good match. I've...I've never felt better."

Sansa broke at that and started crying.

"Shit." Sandor took a step towards her. "That's...I'm sorry, okay?"

"I know." Sansa sucked in a breath. "I know. Can I...can I listen?" she motioned towards the stethoscope Dr. Luwin and left on the table. Sandor picked it up and came to her, passing it off and standing just before her as she fitted the ear pieces in. Taking a shaky breath, Sansa pressed it to his chest. Sandor gently covered her hand with his and moved it down and a little to the left.

And she heard it. The strong, steady beating of his heart. And it was _his_ heart. It might have been Robb's at one point, but the fact that it was beating in the chest of this man didn't mean her brother was alive somehow. He was really, truly gone. But with that tragedy came a miracle of this living person. This wonderful, strong, caring, and thriving man that she'd come to care very deeply for. 

The emotions were too much. She started crying again, this time harder and deeper, enough to make her throat ache and her chest burn. 

"Hey." Sandor pulled the stethoscope from her ears and set it to the side before pulling her into a hug. "Breathe, girl." he whispered, rubbing her back gently. "Take a deep breath, Little Bird. I got you." 

Sansa concentrated on the steady rising and falling of his chest and tried to mirror it, letting her sobs come to a gentler cry. She clung to his shirt, pressed her ear tightly to his chest, and listened to the beating of his heart. For the first time since losing Robb and signing off on his organs being donated, Sansa really understood the gravity of that decision. How a simple scrawl of her name and a few jots of her initials led to this man still being alive. Allowing him to be in her life.

Sansa decided then that it was the best decision she'd ever made in her life. 


	100. Be careful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #99. Be careful.
> 
> A bit smutty there at the end.

Standing off behind the couple, Sandor watched with varying degrees of amusement and disgust as the little bird said her stupid, yet witty words about fighting in the vanguard. He knew Joffrey wouldn't, the coward. The disgust came when the boy made her kiss his sword. Hearteater. What bullshit. Sansa remembered her courtesies and did as he asked before stepping to the side so they might leave. Sandor cast her a single look out of the corner of his eye as he followed his master, surprised when she was looking back at him. 

"Be careful." she said softly, sweetly, and Sandor fully turned to look at her, surprised even more that she was still looking at him full on. Joffrey either didn't hear her or decided to ignore her sentiment, probably thinking it was for him. Surely it should have been. Lady Sansa Stark should give little and less if the likes of Sandor Clegane was careful or not. Yet, for some reason, those words stayed with him. And in his panicked, drunken terror, they led him to her room while green fire blazed out her windows. 

But he hadn't been careful. Not with her. He'd been frightening and cruel and far too harsh. Those were things he'd have to live with, for whatever amount of life he had left to live. And if there were any just gods at all, he'd spend eternity in the worst of the hells to atone for his treatment of her. 

 

-

 

It wasn't exactly clear to him how long he'd been on the isle. A long damn time, if you asked him. He'd healed, both physically and emotionally, or as much as he ever would. There was still a rage in him, something that he'd likely been born with and would carry until his dying day, but he'd mastered it now. Sandor Clegane was no longer at the whim of his anger. 

Digging graves had given him the time to think about his past. It had given him the chance to put it all to rest, all save one thing. The Stark girl that he'd failed. There was no telling where she'd ended up after fleeing from Kings Landing. He could imagine all the horrors that a girl as pretty and sweet as her could have faced. It was the thing that now drove him. To leave this quiet place and find her, save her as he'd always meant to. Elder Brother had told him of the big blonde woman, of her search. Too late, but he told him all the same. Which meant she was alive, and probably somewhere around here. Sandor knew how Lady Arryn had died, and how her husband Lord Baelish was now in charge. It seemed fishy to him, so he thought it best to look there first.

That's where he found her. Hair dyed brown and answering to the wrong name, but her all the same. He was certain of that. So certain that after the welcoming ceremony to the tourney was finished, he sought her out in a out of the way place. 

"Tonight, then." she'd whispered, happiness shining in those blue eyes of her. "I'll meet you near the stables after my fath...Petyr has gone to sleep." 

"Aye." he'd nodded. "I'll be there, ready. You just...be careful." 

 

-

 

They didn't end up leaving that night. Sansa wanted to take care of Petyr first. To bring to light all his manipulation and deceit. Willing to do her bidding, Sandor had helped her stage the set up and the reveal. He'd happily swung the sword and taken a life for the first time in so very long. It didn't feel wrong. It felt right. It felt just. 

With her parentage revealed, Sansa now took over as Lady regent of the Vale while her sickly cousin slowly recovered from the poison Baelish had been feeding him. He'd never be a leader, Sandor knew. There was too much wrong with the boy, even aside from the poisoning. He'd only ever be a Lord in name. But Sansa now had the Knights of the Vale at her disposal and with their support, she'd reached out to Jon at the Wall. Together, they'd come up with a plan to retake Winterfell. Sandor had assured them there was no way the girl living there as Ramsay's wife was really Arya, but he would help fight to gain Sansa her home once again. 

The eve before the battle, Sansa had found him sitting a ways off from the fire, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. He didn't look up at her as she sat next to him. Neither spoke for a long time, the only noise the distant talking of soldiers, the crackling of the fire, and the scrape of the stone against steel. 

"You are fighting on the front lines." she finally said after a long moment and Sandor paused in his sharpening for only a second. 

"Aye." he carried on. "The leg wont slow me down, if that's what you're worried about. It doesn't pain me." 

"I wasn't." she assured him and Sandor glanced over at her just as she turned towards him. "Be careful on the marrow, Clegane. It would not do for you to come this far only to leave me once again." 

 

-

 

Winterfell was back under the rule of a Stark. Snow had been named King in the North, but everyone was well aware of who ran the castle, and that was Lady Stark. It impressed Sandor just how competent she was at the task. So far from the naïve and trembling little girl he'd first met here all those years ago. Still so sweet and courteous, her heart probably too kind for her own good, but stronger somehow. Her eyes were opened to the world, yet she didn't view it with coldness or heartlessness. 

Threats were coming from both directions, however. With all her children now dead, Cersei had seated herself Queen. It would only be a matter of time before she sent her armies to reclaim the North. A dragon Queen was now allied with them, pledging her dragons and her armies to the fight against the undead that Jon had proven were coming far faster than any southron threat. It seemed the fighting was just starting, with no end in sight. 

Every day, until the sconces flickered out in the winter winds, Sandor trained with the men in the training yard. He felt he needed to prove himself, for both his leg and for his previous allegiance to the Lannister's. Every day when he looked up, he found Sansa watching. Only, she didn't watch the men as a whole. Her eyes seemed to be stuck to him and followed each and every one of his movements. The worried crease between her elegant brows every evening when he escorted her to her chambers grew deeper and deeper. 

"Why must you always be on the front lines?" she asked him one evening, stopping just inside her door. 

"I'm one of the best fighters." he informed her with a smirk. One she didn't return. 

"I don't like it." she lifted her chin. "I'm telling Jon to move you back. There are plenty of men. You needn't keep risking yourself like this." 

"There are not plenty of men, and you know this." he reminded her. "You don't make battle plans. That's King Snow's job. Keep that in mind." 

"But I am a true born Stark." she nearly stamped her foot and Sandor fought against a smile.

"Be careful." he warned her. "That's bordering on treason." 

Sansa huffed a laugh, a smile finally pulling at her lips. They both knew very well that Jon would never do anything to hurt his half sister. He cared for her almost as much as Sandor did, though in a vastly different way.

 

-

 

Wars always seemed never ending, especially now that Sandor didn't draw so much perverse enjoyment from killing. They'd only just taken care of the Others and ended the Long Night when they had to turn around and fight against the Lannister forces. Ser Jaime had defected and together with the big Tarth woman, they were able to outsmart and outmaneuver them. In the end, it had been a far shorter, and far less deadly war. The dragon Queen had taken her single remaining dragon with her to Kings Landing to start her reign and rebuilding the realm. Jon stayed behind in the North, but would join her and their newborn babe once he got things settled here. 

That bothered Sandor the most. He knew what that meant. Lord Rickon was too young, and still far too wild, to be in charge of Winterfell or the North. That would still fall to Sansa. And with that position, and as the eldest Stark woman, she would be a prime choice for the remaining Lords to wed. He could already see it. Marrying her off to some Southron Lord would be a good way at strengthening relations. There had even been talk of a marriage between a highborn Lady to one of the prominent Wildlings to help ease their transition. Now, Sandor knew that Jon would never marry his now cousin off to a Wildling, but the Southron Lord was not out of the question. Or, strategically, a bad idea. 

"He'll want me to marry soon." Sansa said one day when he'd accompanied her to the godswood. She wasn't looking at him, but was knelt down in the melting snow and facing the heart tree. 

"He will." Sandor agreed, but couldn't help notice the despondent tone of her voice. 

"Re claiming my marriage to Tyrion is what Jon thinks the best decision." she went on and Sandor felt the burnt corner of his lips twitch. "Especially now that Ser Jaime has wed Lady Brienne." 

"A common chess piece, you are." he spat, angry on her behalf and for reasons he didn't want to get into. Sansa laughed at that, although there was no humor in her voice. 

"Be careful, you might be a chess piece as well." she glanced back at him with a small smile on her face. "There's also talk of making you a Lord and House Clegane a proper House." 

"No man, king or not, will make me move back to the Westerlands." 

Sansa stood, brushing her skirts off before facing him. "Then what shall you do?" 

Sandor caught her eyes, held them. "I'll stay with you. Protect you from whatever shite husband your Kingly cousin saddles you with." 

 

-

 

In the end, Queen Daenerys and King Jon did insist that Sansa wed a Lord. They also insisted that House Bolton be dismantled and that a new Lord take over the castle, with the understanding that it would no longer be named the Dreadfort. It was Sansa's insistence that Sandor accept the new title of Lord, and that he take the old Dreadfort and make it the new House Clegane. He wouldn't need to move back to the Westerlands then. And Sansa...well, Sansa wouldn't have to marry a Lord that she didn't know that might turn out to be as cruel to her as her first fiancé. 

"This can't be a good idea." Sandor had stared at her, confused and surprised and not just a little excited by the prospect of marrying her. 

"But it is." she clasped her hands before her chest with a delighted smile on her face. "It takes care of everything. I don't want to leave the North. Ever. You don't want to go back west. You won't even have to protect me from my husband, because you will be my husband." 

Sandor swallowed, strangely upset by her reasoning. They were all true, and practical. But she had said nothing of her feelings towards him, or of romance. It felt wrong, that this girl who had once so loved songs and desired a great love of her own would be stuck in a practical marriage to a brute of a man like him. 

"Would you...would you not like to wed me, Sandor?" she asked nervously when he said nothing for a long moment. 

"Why would you want to wed me?" he countered without answering and she looked at him in confusion. 

"As I said, it takes care of all our issues, and..."

"NO." he nearly shouted, taking a step towards her and leaning down so he was in her face. "That's not you, Little Bird. That's practicality, not your own desires." 

He watched her swallow, her slender throat working. Her eyes flitted away from his, somewhere near his chest. The corner of her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth and Sandor nearly choked with a surge of tenderness for her in her clearly vulnerable state. 

"Because you protect me." she finally said. "Because you are strong and gentle and kind. Because you came for me and saved me. Because I only ever feel safe when I'm with you. When you look at me, I feel...I feel warm and treasured." she looked back up at him and Sandor swallowed hard. "Because I lov..."

"Stop." he cut her off, squeezing his eyes shut. "Be careful, girl. Don't tell me something that isn't true. Don't say those bloody words because you think it's what's expected of you to say to your future husband." he opened his eyes and looked down at her. "I'll marry you for the practical reasons because I want to keep you safe. Because I want to give you what you want, and if that's staying here in the North and the only way is marriage to me, then I'll do it. What I don't want, what I don't need, is honeyed lies." 

"What if it's not a lie?" she questioned softly, moving a step closer to him, one slender hand coming to rest against his ruined jawline. "What if it's the truth?" 

Without meaning to, his face pressed into her touch and he brought a hand up to grasp her wrist. "Then fuck practicality. I'll marry you today, if it's what you wish." 

A bright smile, far brighter then he'd seen from her in so long, stretched across her face. "My wish is to have a proper wedding. One with Jon and Arya present. So it can't be today, my love. But it is the truth, Sandor. And it is my wish to spend the rest of my days with you by my side." 

"Aye." he nodded. "Then it shall be so." 

 

-

 

Pressing himself further into her body, Sandor rubbed his nose along her hairline. They'd been married now six moons, and it still managed to take him by surprise that he was allowed this intimacy with her. That she would willingly, and happily, clutch his naked body to hers tighter while her sweet, sweet voice sang out for him. 

Sweat was starting to work up along his brow and down the length of his back. Spring had fully thawed out the winter and the sun today had warmed their chamber to an almost uncomfortable heat. Not that Sandor was going to complain about that now. He welcomed the heat, it drove his desire and want of her higher and it seemed to do the same for Sansa. She had become more and more comfortable with bed play during their marriage, and was no longer so reserved in her pursuit of their mutual pleasure. 

Right now, she arched her back hard enough that Sandor pushed up with the palms of his hands and lifted his upper body off of hers. It allowed them to cool down some while also allowing him to see her nudity in it's entirety. A sight that would never grow old, he was certain. He could also see how he invaded her over and over again, coming away covered in her glistening desire. Pulling his gaze away before the sight undid him, Sandor locked in on her bouncing teats. He licked his lips at the sight. They were likely his favorite part of his wife's body. 

Dropping to his elbows, he arched so that he could rub his face against the soft mounds. Sansa let out a happy noise, fingers threading into his hair while she pressed further into his touch. Turning his head to the side, he caught one beaded nipple between his lips and sucked it hard before sinking his teeth into it in a way that always managed to drive her crazy. 

"Ah!" Sansa yelped, yanking on his hair to pull him away. "Be careful." she admonished and Sandor slowed the thrusting of his hips to look at her face, his one good brow raised in question. 

"I thought you liked that." he asked, wondering if he'd been hurting her this whole time without knowing it. 

"No, I do." she breathlessly assured him, wiping sweat from his brow at the same time she dug her heels into his arse to get him moving again. She moaned when he did, pressing her head back into the mattress with a smile on her face. "They're just sensitive right now." 

No really paying attention now that he knew he wasn't hurting her, Sandor gave a grunt in acknowledgment and focused again on bringing her to her peak quickly because his was starting to tighten in his groin. 

Afterwards, when she'd gotten up to clean herself before coming back into bed, Sandor rolled to his side and simply admired her easy nakedness next to him. Her right nipple still bore the indents from his teeth and Sandor reached out to gently rub his finger over the now soft flesh. Sansa hummed gently, a smile tugging at her lips while her eyes shut. 

"Is your moonblood to start soon?" he asked, knowing that her breasts were often sensitive just before and during the time that she bled. 

"No." she smiled even wider, opening her eyes to look at him. "I haven't been burdened with that in two moons now." 

"Hm." he hummed, distracted at how her nipple was pulling taunt under his fingers and he softly rolled the bud with his thumb. 

"Sandor." Sansa covered is hand, stopping his movements and pressing his palm into her flesh. "Did you hear me, love?" 

"Aye." he nodded. "You haven't had your..." he trailed off, the statement fully sinking in. 

"Sandor." she whispered his name, sitting up and forcing him to do the same. Concern leaked into her voice and Sandor swallowed, looking back up at her. "Are you alright with this? You do want a child by me, don't you?" 

Of course he did. The thought appealed to the primal side of him, that he was virile enough to impregnate her. It also surprised him how much the thought of her expanding belly flamed his arousal. Besides, he'd been spilling his seed inside of her for six moons now. It was bound to happen eventually and they would need heirs regardless.

"I'll be a shite father." he warned her. "But, yes little bird. I want you to have my child."

"You'll be a wonderful father." she countered, a light kiss to his nose. "We'll help each other be wonderful parents."   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. This series is done. I'm both excited about that and sad. I had so much fun writing these and I'm overwhelmed with the praise and comments and kudos I've received. It's been an absolute pleasure and each and every one of you have been so lovely! 
> 
> Keep an eye out for a longer fic of mine that will be out soon. I'm still working on some stuff with it, but it should be ready fairly soon! 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this!!


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